Ten Years Of Us
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: A long (very, very long) fluffy/smutty one shot. Ten years of Ste and Brendan loving each other.


**2010**

_Ste_

A kiss or a punch. You never know with him.

"Come here."

I don't move for what feels like the longest time. Is this what it's like to be paralysed? I'm not even shaking - I can't. It feels like I can't do anything. Anything but hear him telling me to come to him in that way he does; sort of low, like he's trying to persuade me to do something I don't want to do.

Because I don't, do I?

"Steven, I said come here."

He's pulling me towards him. I say pulling, but he isn't touching me. It's his voice, see. It's his voice that's doing the pulling.

I can move again now.

Slowly, only a tiny bit, and then he is touching me, his fingers climbing up my T-shirt.

He brings me close, real close. So close that I can see the hairs of his moustache like they're in high definition. I don't want to look, though; if I look then I might make him angry, or I might end up saying the wrong thing. I'm not meant to do anything. I was the one who crossed the line. I don't understand how, or why, and that means I could easily do it again.

I think he's going to smack me. Maybe in the ribs again, in the spot where there are still marks and bruises that haven't faded yet. I can feel my stomach muscles clenching, almost like they're preparing themselves for the feel of him.

Or maybe he'll hit me in the face. My cheek, or my eye. It'll be more risky, though. People will see - Amy, or Cheryl, or I might bump into someone when I next run out of milk again and have no choice but to go to the shops. He might not like that, people digging around, asking questions. Safer to hit me where no one can see. Because he knows that I won't have been with anyone but him. No one else will see the bruises on my ribs. He was it. He was the only one I wanted.

I'm almost closing my eyes, flinching away from it. I can remember what it feels like, all of it; the pain of his fist connecting with my skin. The shock of it, after the certainty that he was going to kiss me, that we were going to have what we had the last time - him, me, in that cellar, ripping the clothes off each other, him touching me, kissing me, licking me _there_.

Looking back, I think the shock was worse than the punch. Because I trusted him. I was already thinking that he was someone that I wanted to have around for a long time.

I don't trust him now, though. And I'm not waiting for him to kiss me.

When he does, that's the surprise.

His lips are really soft. It's only a small kiss, a tiny one, can't last more than a few seconds. He's gentle, which is strange because I know he's capable of being anything but. But it's like he's being extra careful, just testing, just seeing if I'm okay with it. It's like the first time in that way: him and me in that cellar again, and him kissing me, and drawing away to see in my eyes if I liked it.

I liked it then, and I like it now, but I don't know if I'm still meant to.

Maybe he feels how much I'm trembling. Maybe he can sense it from where he's standing, like it's radiating off me.

"Everything okay? You want me to stop?"

His voice is still low. I've never heard him talk to anyone else like this. Not ever.

I can see two paths. I can tell him to stop, and I think he will. I don't know how I know - I've only known him a few months, and so much about him is still unclear - but I know that he won't force it. He didn't force it in the cellar, and I believe him here, now. If I tell him to stop then he'll stop. He'll leave.

I could stay away from him. Avoid him at work, or do what I should have done the moment he hit me, and start looking for a new job. He might not give me a reference, but Cheryl would, and there might be something in town, something with better hours so I'm not up half the night, dog tired the next day.

I don't ever have to see him again. Maybe I'll bump into him once or twice in the village, but that's all it'll be - a quick hello maybe, or maybe he'll pretend he doesn't know me, wipe me out of his life altogether, and that'll be okay. I can deal with that. I'll be safe, won't I?

Except standing here now, him looking at me, waiting for my answer - it's not as simple as _go down this path, this is the right one to take_, because I can't stop thinking about everything that's happened between us. The beating too; that's still raw, fresh, like I can still smell the blood, and I can hear everything he said to me, about how I disgust him, about how this is all my fault. But everything else, too; the way he'd kissed me, like he was trying to steal the breath from me. No one's ever wanted me that way, that much. The way he'd slammed me up against the wall, his hands underneath my work uniform, grabbing at my skin. The moment where everything had changed, when he'd touched my cock for the first time, started working on it, got down on his knees and sucked it. I'd looked at the ceiling, and it had felt like I was seeing stars.

I can't forget that. I can't forget the way he'd treated me afterwards, when he'd smoothed back my hair, laughed as I laughed, and it was like we were both coming down from some high, crazy with it, smiling these big smiles, and I could taste his smile as he kissed me again.

There were things afterwards - the way his smile had faded, the way he'd stopped touching me as we'd cleaned up and went back upstairs. He hadn't come near me for the rest of the night, and every time I looked at him he'd been sort of cold, distant, barely looking at me. Cheryl had been there when my shift had ended and I'd said goodnight, so I couldn't say goodbye to him properly. But I'd looked at him, and I'd wanted him to see what I was feeling, that I was glad. It sounds soft, but it had been one of the best nights of my life, the kind of night where you feel everything all at once, and you want it to stretch out forever, last forever, not let the next day begin because it might not be like that again.

I hoped he'd seen that, and when he'd just looked at me, blank, twitchy like he always was - I ignored it. I ignored it, because it seemed impossible that anything could be wrong after what we'd just done.

There can be all this bad stuff, but when something happens that makes you feel like your life's started - really, properly started - then that's all you can focus on.

That's why I let him back in. That's why I kissed him back. Kept kissing him, and putting my hand against his cheek, and letting him walk me backwards into the bedroom. That's why I let him fuck me for the first time.

::::::

_Brendan_

I know a lot of things about Steven Hay.

I know how he likes his coffee - lots of milk, four sugars. I know that there isn't a part of his skin that isn't golden brown, like he's been on holiday every day of his life. I know that he has dyslexia, that he finds it hard to sound things out, write certain words, but he's determined, has that stiff upper lip approach, and if you dare, _dare_ to patronise him then he'll hate you for it. I know that he's loud when I'm fucking him, and louder when he comes. I know that he likes his nipples sucked, but that bottom play is what really gets him going; my finger in his hole, or my tongue, and then he'll begin to whine and get impatient for my cock, with his fearless eyes set in a challenge and his lips curved into a pout. I know that he'd die for his kids, and I know he loves that best friend of his, that annoying blond who won't stay out of our business, whip-thin and shrewd, whispering poisonous words against me into his ear. I know that he likes pressing up to me, getting me to put my arm around him, and that he likes to play with the hairs on my chest. I know that he doesn't have a dad, and something in him hurts when he talks about his mum. I know that if I asked him to stay by my side indefinitely then he would.

I know all this because he never shuts up.

It's not just when he's awake that he talks. He talks in his sleep, too. Mumbles, sentences running into each other, the kind of thing that you can't make sense of most of the time.

There are a few_ Lucas, put your toys away, daddy's going to trip over them_. There are some sniffles, and some more cuddling - yes, _cuddling_, for fuck sake - up to me, and then there are some words I can't make out, things which are only half formed.

Sometimes he'll say my name, _Brendan_, in a way where I won't know if he's awake or asleep, if he needs me or if it's all a dream.

He likes to talk when I'm inside him. I'll know when he's close because he stops talking, and noises are all he's capable of. But when I'm kissing his neck, or I've just got inside him, he'll say things. Just a word or two sometimes. At first it was _more_ when he was shy, when he didn't want to spell out what he wanted and he needed me to do the guessing.

Then _harder_ when he got more confident, and then it became actions instead of words; his heel pressing against my arse, forcing me to go in deeper, his mouth opening up wider for him to take in my tongue.

He's trusting, is Steven. He talks to me like he thinks I'm someone worth talking to.

He's going a mile a minute now. I thought he'd be worn out after what we've just done, but maybe I underestimated him. It's been a while since we've been like this. I guess I've forgotten.

"How long have we got?" We're in that tiny bed of his where I first had him. We're squeezed so tightly together that I feel I'm about to fall out. Rae's throw is covering us. It's only laziness that's stopping me from shrugging it onto the floor; it's too hot for it on top of the cover.

Steven sits up a little, leaning over me to look at the clock.

"What time was it when you came?"

"Round here or in you?"

"Round here, you idiot." He colours. It's barely detectable, but I notice it.

"Don't know." All I remember before setting off was the plan that had loosely formed in my mind: find Steven. Get rid of the girlfriend. Do what I'd wanted to do with him all afternoon, ever since he'd shown up at work in that tight little black uniform, fringe swept to the side, him flirting with me.

"She'll probably be a while yet anyway. The kids were hyper today. They'll want to stay out for ages."

I shouldn't take his word for it. He's not the most reliable lad, and we've done the whole sneaking out of the house thing before, but something makes me stay.

I think we'll just lie here for a while, maybe get some rest - not sleep, because sleep is the most dangerous thing we can do in this situation. Rae could walk in any minute, and I wouldn't have enough time to run before she'd found me. I tell myself not to close my eyes, not even for a second, and instead I concentrate on him.

He looks good when he's just been fucked. He always looks good, but he's confident now, more than when he's clothed. He becomes himself when he's like this with me.

He's also getting hard again, quickly.

I've hardly touched him; put my arm around him, maybe, and stroked his hair a bit, messing it with my fingers until he's told me to cut it out, but I haven't gone near his body under the covers. He seems to be thinking about what to do, about whether I've noticed, but then he must feel me hard against him too.

He crawls on top of me.

He's beautiful. I'm not exaggerating. You can't see him and think that he's not, because he just is. Some things just _are_, and he's beautiful.

I push his hair back from his forehead. His skin's shining, glowing.

"I'm happy." He seems a bit amazed at his own words, at the realisation, and then he looks like he thinks maybe he shouldn't have said that.

"Yeah?"

He is. I can see it.

"Yeah." He nods, full of hesitation, and for a moment it startles me how young he looks.

"And all it took was a shag."

He laughs like he's sharing the joke, but then his face turns serious. I think he's going to say something, but he stops himself.

He moves so he's fully on top of me now, pressed flush against me. When I start playing with his dick he lets out this noise, this _hiss, _and I guess he's still delicate there from the rough wank I'd treated him to. He shifts away a little, and I'm about to ease up, think maybe he's had enough, but then I realise that he wants to get in position to suck me off.

I remember imagining this a lot before he became mine.

I push the cover away so I can see everything. His skin's red, but I think it's from exertion rather than embarrassment. He used to get shy - adorable, really - but it's less pronounced than it once was. He's changed. I don't know if it was me that changed him, but he's changed.

When he first did this he was too fast. He'd tried to take in as much as possible, ended up choking around it, eyes watering, mouth glistening with his own spit. He goes slow now; little lapping licks around the head of my dick at first, hand positioned at the base, holding it. I can feel his skin tickling my pubes.

He swallows, doesn't take the glass of water that I offer him. He comes back up in the bed to lie by my side. He looks smug as hell.

"Think we still have time, Steven?"

He glances again at the clock, barely seems to look at it before nodding like he already knows what's coming.

"What do you want?" I say.

He thinks, smile plastered on his face, failing to be serious in his consideration.

Eventually he takes my hand, guides it lower. Lower. Lower still.

He comes with three of my fingers inside him, shuddering and crying out. Then that smile again when it's all over, pleased as punch.

He really is happy.

::::::

_Ste_

We don't always get much time to ourselves.

Sometimes there's a quiet shift and we'll be able to sneak out into the toilets. It's lucky it's kept clean, the amount of time we spend in there.

We don't go into a cubicle often. They're too small for what we do, the way we spread out.

He usually locks the main door, then has me up against the wall, or with my stomach pressed against a sink.

I've stopped going around without a shirt on at home. Amy would only wonder about the marks.

We're working at the SU Bar while the builders fix up the club. The bathroom has better lighting here. I like that. I like that I'll get to see him better when he fucks me. Usually if we're being quick he'll leave his clothes on, but sometimes I'll undo the buttons of his shirt, often two at a time, and I'll get my hands inside, feel his warm skin, that necklace he always wears lying near his heart.

That's what I've been thinking about all of today: seeing him. Seeing all of him, properly.

I've made my excuses to Rae, told her that Brendan's asked me to stay behind at work. He's been in my head since what we did last night, when he'd pretended he needed the keys, when he'd pushed me onto my bed instead, unzipped and unbuckled, kissed me all over. I can't explain it - if anyone asked me what he does, why I keep coming back, then I don't know; I just do. It's not even something that he does, it's something that he _is_.

I come back because I want to come back. That's the part that Amy doesn't get. She thinks he has this hold over me. She doesn't understand that he feels it too.

I know he does. When we were in bed and lying together, quiet and having a bit of a rest before he got up and left, I knew that he wanted to stay. He didn't have to say anything. It's just the way he was, the way he was pressed close to my side, and how he kept on touching me; my face, my legs under the cover, my ears all lightly like he was trying to tickle them.

I wanted more of the same at work, but it's like a light's switched off. I'm doing everything right - I'm not hassling him, not making a move, not putting pressure on him. I try and brush it off at first, say _about last night..._ and make my voice sound all regretful, like it's this bad mistake that I'm trying to forget about.

He keeps on ignoring it - _me_ - the whole shift, and he's using these words again. There's this mate of Cheryl's who Brendan calls queer, and when he says it I feel it, I feel myself flinch. I don't like it when he says things like that.

I think he needs some time. I give it to him, give him hours of it, still not saying what I want to say about last night.

It wears me down. Looking at him, not being able to touch him, not knowing what's going to happen at the end of the day. I say something, tell him about Rae thinking that we're going to stock take.

He brushes me off.

"Forget it, it's not happening." He's got this towel that he's cleaned his mouth on, and he throws it behind himself. It lands on my shoulder as he walks away.

He can be a real bastard sometimes.

The thing about Brendan is, he's not someone that you can just get out of your head once he's in there. At the end of my shift I'm walking back home, and he's there every step of the way, every footstep I take back to the flat, every bit of pavement I walk across. He's there the whole time, this constant annoying thought. He's under my skin.

Rae's taken the kids out, and Amy's not home. I almost think of calling Rae to come back, but I don't want to confuse her. I don't think I'd be much company anyway.

I turn on the tv and sit on the sofa with some tea and toast, put my feet up. I can't be bothered to get up again to put the light on so the flat's in darkness, just the light of the television flickering.

I try not to feel sorry for myself. It lasts about fifteen minutes before I'm remembering the conversation I had with Brendan in my head - every conversation, ever - going over it all and wondering how we ended up here.

I could have stopped him when he kissed me for the first time. That time in the cellar when I thought he was going to batter me, I could have just got the fuck out and never gone back. I don't know if he would have tracked me down, but I could have tried. He probably would have moved on to the next sap anyway. Maybe he already has; maybe there's someone else he's got on the side. Maybe that's where he is tonight, now.

He told me there's only ever been Macca though. I asked him, said it as carefully as I could, because he doesn't like it when I ask him things._ Are there going to be any other people turning up?_ I said it like it was all a bit of a joke, like the thought of it didn't make my heart hammer.

He'd looked at me for a little while. It scares me sometimes, the way he looks at me, because I don't always know what he's thinking.

Then he surprised me. He has a habit of doing that, but this was a good surprise; he leaned forward and kissed me, probably more gently than he'd ever kissed me.

"No, Steven. There isn't going to be anyone else."

I must be going mad, because I start imagining him walking through the door.

I imagine him knocking in that way of his, that way that I've come to know as his knock. When I first imagine it he says he's sorry, but when I imagine it for the second time he doesn't say anything at all, just walks through the hallway and kisses me, carries me to bed, actually picks me up and _carries_ me, my arms around him, and he's walking with me like it's nothing.

Sometimes I imagine him saying it, those words that I feel for him but haven't said yet, but most of the time I don't. The real Brendan wouldn't say those words. Or I can't picture it; I can't hear how he'd sound saying them, but my mind keeps going back there anyway, keeps trying to make it all fit.

In the dark it's really easy to imagine anything's possible.

He never comes though. Not that night.

::::::

_Brendan _

I'm trying the window, trying to get it to shift with my elbow. _Smack_. It's tough. I can feel sweat building on my forehead.

He'll start checking up on me if I give it much longer.

He's suited and booted. Well - his version of suited; blue shirt, smart, not the kind of thing that _he_ thinks is smart but in reality blinds the nearest person. He's gone the whole hog: aftershave, product in his hair.

I could see people in the bar looking at him, admiring him. I wanted to stand a bit closer to him, shuffle forward in my seat, show them that he was with me, that they shouldn't look, but he wasn't. He wasn't with me. We weren't really together, not how he wanted.

He's got these little dreams swimming in his pretty head. Dates. Restaurants. Candlelit dinners for two. _Normal couple. _

It's quite a picture he's painting. He got himself all worked up, all excited. I think the reality hit him the same time it hit me: we're not meant for this, me and Steven. We're not ever going to be like that.

_I'm here, aren't I?_

He gave me a look, seemed to be considering my words, weighing them up, maybe seeing if they were enough. Seemed like they were, because a moment later he was touching my hand with his, voice all soft, and God, he really wanted all of this. He really wanted all of me.

I ran.

I'm still running.

I leave through the front door when Steven isn't looking. Or at least I hope he's not looking; even if he doesn't come after me, I don't want him to see me sneaking out like I'm ashamed of him.

Because I'm not. I'm not ashamed of him. Never have been.

I get in a cab, decide to go and visit my boys for Christmas, and all I can think about is that moment when Steven finds out that I've gone, when he starts looking for me, when it dawns on him. Will he go straight home or will he stick around, try his luck elsewhere?

_Please go home._ I nearly turn around and go back to Chester right there and then just to make sure he has.

I keep going. There's a chance to rest my eyes on the plane; I get the window seat and lean against it, wonder what I'm going home to. I haven't told Eileen I'm coming, and I know it's likely that she'll slam the door in my face, but it's something I know by now. I know how to do this. I know how to be the man she hates, the husband and father who's let her down.

I've switched off my phone. I know he'll try to call, and I don't want to see it. The messages will be worse. I don't let my mind go there, don't let myself imagine what he'll put.

Sometimes I think he's younger than twenty one, the things that he thinks I'm capable of. That _we're_ capable of, together. Maybe it's nothing to do with age, though; maybe it's just him, what he's like. I wasn't that naive when I was his age. He has kids, he has more responsibilities than most lads at twenty one, and he thinks this was really going to work out. He had this faith in me. It must have been almost unshakeable, for him to see this through, to come on this _date_, for him to think I'd stick around.

I shook it.

I've got a one way ticket. I'm not sure yet when I'll come back, and there's this thought now: what if I don't come back? I could stay in Ireland, try and give things another go. Get a place near to the kids, find a new club to work at. I can't see any problems with getting a new job, not with the track record I've got. Cheryl's settled enough at home, enough for me to not be scared of leaving her. She can visit whenever she wants. She'd love to see Padraig and Declan more, I know she would.

It seems possible. For a second it seems like it's something more than just a fantasy. It was stupid moving to Chester. I thought I could start over, do things differently, but it's all just the same. Worse, even, because now...

Everything's different now.

There's this voice in my head, twisted, tormenting. _Can you leave him? Can you never see him again? _

I lean closer against the window, my skull pressed into it enough to leave a mark.

I could check up on him. Ask Cheryl, ask _how are the staff?_ Ask about Jacqui and Rhys and their mindless melodrama, wait until she gets round to Steven. She's a gossip, is my sister. Even when I don't want to know the details she tells me, and I'd just have to patient, wait for her to slowly feed me information about him.

Would I know if he's in trouble though? Would I know if something's going on with him, something bad? If he's got money problems, him and Amy? If he's unhappy, if his mood's switched like it always does, taking him from light, carefree to having that perpetual cloud hanging over him?

Would she tell me if he's seeing someone new?

I saw it in the bar for the first time tonight. I've known it before - always known, since the first time I met him - that he has something that people could want. He walks into a room and you can't not look at him, you know? The way he sort of slouches, like he's not worth taking up any space. The way he drags his feet like he can barely be bothered to move. His eyelashes, long and thick and dark, especially when he cries. Honey coloured skin that glows in a low light. Skinny body underneath his clothes. A surprising amount of body hair that I've felt against my tongue, but the rest of him smooth, soft. He's got a mouth that's anything but innocent.

He's not someone who just passes you by. You _notice_ him.

I already know that it's going to be a return ticket.

::::::

**2011**

_Ste _

Everything can change in a day. It feels like the world can shift completely. When you wake up it's one thing, and when you go to sleep it's something different, something you never imagined.

It was intimate yesterday. Yeah, _intimate_. I don't know what changed, what made it feel like things were normal. Maybe it was him. Maybe _he_ was being normal. Not trying to push me around, or twist things, or take control.

I came to his flat. He invited me in, closed the door all carefully, then walked up to me. Put his hand on my face, smoothed his thumb over my cheek, across my skin.

I could have laughed. I almost did, but it was a bitter kind of laugh. An angry one.

_It's always on your terms._

_Is it? _He told me I could go._ So walk away. _He was giving me that option, that out. I could take it if I wanted to.

What I did was, I kissed him. I let him take me to bed, and I let go.

I don't let go with anyone else the way I let go with him. His sister was out, and we had the whole place to ourselves. He didn't try to shut me up. When he covered my mouth it was just with his own, and he kissed me like I meant the world to him, like I _was_ his world.

I don't know how anyone could expect me to walk away from that.

After I left his flat, I was excited. I was bouncing off the walls a bit, trying not to let it show, but it felt like everyone in the street could tell, like I was smiling like an idiot.

I stopped smiling when Rae told me she's pregnant.

It's like things started rearranging themselves in my head: we're going to have a baby. I'm going to be a dad again. Leah and Lucas are going to have a little brother or sister, and me and Rae, we're going to be a proper family.

But then there's him. He's out there waiting for me, and I couldn't stop thinking about yesterday. He was _playful_. That's what I can't get over. He called me back to bed - usually he just throws me out as soon as he can, scared that someone's going to walk in and see us, or not wanting me to get too close. But that time he said _come here_ in that way he does, and the bed dipped when I bounced onto it and came towards him, and he let me just sit next to him.

He told me about Warren. Told me that Warren knows that he's done something, something bad. He never talks to me about things like that. Most of the time he's just trying to make sure that I keep this a secret, this thing between us. Or he'll talk to me in bed, private things, things only for me. But he doesn't usually talk to me about _normal_ things. He doesn't usually trust me.

I hadn't worked it all out yet. I hadn't decided how things were going to be from now on. I just knew that I needed him. I needed him in my life, and just because Rae's pregnant, it didn't mean that I was just going to get rid of him. It wasn't as simple as that, not for me.

He had an answer for that though. He has an answer for everything.

He wasn't even fazed. When I told him about Rae, he barely even blinked. I thought he'd be shocked. I thought he'd be - I don't know, _sad_ or something, sad for thinking that it had come between us. But he didn't even seem to care.

I tried to cut in, because I could feel him slipping away from me. He'd stopped being how he was yesterday. There were walls between us again.

_Last night - _

_Was last night._ He was so cold that it made me flinch.

I tried to touch him. I just wanted to feel him again, have some contact. He seemed so far away.

He stopped me from touching him, slammed me up against the wall. I can still feel the impact of it if I close my eyes.

He looked at me like he hated me.

I was close to him, right up close to his mouth and his eyes, and I thought about how many times I'd been like this. How many times we'd done this, and how many more times we would.

I kissed him, or I tried, because he pulled away. I was crying a bit, my nose feeling like it was running, and I remember how fucking _miserable_ I felt, and how I knew that only he could make it better.

He kissed me. It wasn't a quick one; it was slow, long, and I felt relief bubbling inside me. I don't know what I thought - that he'd changed his mind, that we could continue this thing behind Rae's back - but I could feel him all around me, and he was cradling my face softly.

Usually he tells me I'm the one that ruins it by talking, but it was him this time.

_That was goodbye. _

No. _No_. It was a weak protest. I could feel the fight in me dying like the flames were being put out.

_Get out of my face. Go, now. _Like he couldn't stand to look at me anymore. He shoved me, not rough, but just enough so that I moved.

I stumbled down the steps, was on the opposite side of the wall to him. I touched my lips; I could still taste him, still feel him there, and I was thinking _is this the last time?_ It seemed impossible that it could be.

Maybe he was fine, on the other side of that wall. Maybe he'd already picked himself up, brushed himself off. He recovers quickly.

I go home to Rae. She's sitting on the sofa, knees drawn up. It's like she's hugging herself.

I make us both some tea, let it warm our hands. We're silent for a bit.

"We're going to be okay, aren't we?"

She needs me to reassure her. I think she'll fall apart if I don't.

"Yeah, 'course. We'll be fine." I hold out my hand, open my arms as she makes a space for herself there.

I've lost him.

::::::

_Brendan_

He breaks things in my office. He doesn't care, and neither do I.

It's been weeks since I had him, but I remember every bit of him. Every line. Every curve. Every noise he makes, and how he laughs that stupid laugh of his when he's happy.

It's been a while since I heard him properly laugh.

My papers are all on the floor. They were the first to go. Then some files, and we managed to knock the chair behind the desk over. I don't know how that happened.

He's loud. It's lucky that the music at the club's louder, because he's moaning into my mouth even when I kiss him, even when I try and drown it out with my tongue.

It's not just him, though. It's me too.

I lift him up. He's tiny. I hardly feel him as I walk with him in my arms towards the wall, but he feels it when his back crashes against it. He lets out a whine, pouting and rubbing his shoulder.

"You okay?" I'm whispering even though no one can hear us, even though Steven's made no attempt to do the same.

He nods hurriedly, and I guess we _are_ in a hurry because that girlfriend of his could come looking for him at any second. Good thing I locked the door.

I hold him up, his ankles around my waist. His legs are scrawny but they wrap around me and he holds himself there tightly, his hands playing with my tie. It's the only thing I'm still wearing; we seem to have undressed in the wrong order.

He uses the tie to drag me closer, bring me into a kiss. His hands are possessive, his fingers curling, nails clawing at my skin. He's greedy; it's been a while.

I have nothing in this office. I have a condom in my pocket - thank fuck for that - but there's no lube, noting to help us. I've stayed away from him for weeks, and there hasn't been anyone else, so.

I lick my palm, my fingers, hold them out in front of Steven to let him know what I'm going to do. His eyes glisten. He might not realise the way his tongue's flicking out of his mouth, but I do.

I feel under him, feel around his hole. He clenches, draws in a breath, his fingers stilling on my tie.

I lean my forehead against his, wait for him to relax as I ease a finger into him, feel his inner muscles ripple around it. He's tight and warm and soft, and his hands move to my shoulders, his grip strong as I feel inside him.

He's letting out this high pitched sound, eyes closing as I feel inside him with two fingers now.

I like listening to the sounds he makes. I lean my head against the crook of his shoulder, his skin growing damp with my breath. I can feel his heart beating. I can feel everything.

"Brendan."

I look up, see him wanting more. I'd lick his rim if I could from this position, but the logistics aren't great; I'd have to put him down, maybe lie him on the desk, and that would require time which we don't have. Besides, I'm impatient. I've waited and waited and _wanted_, and I can't keep on waiting for him.

Still holding him, I lower my body so that I can pick up my trousers and find the condom. Steven's arms are around my neck, holding on, and at the same time he takes my tie off from over my head. He does it with his teeth. Talented little thing.

As soon as I have the condom on I'm inside him. Both of us gasp from it, and I have to hold him up firmer than before, because he suddenly feels in danger of falling. With every thrust he knocks against the wall, and I know there'll be bruises there tomorrow, large dark smudges against his upper back.

I didn't understand how much I'd been missing him until now. Maybe I didn't allow myself to.

The thing about Steven is, he loses himself. He loses himself when I fuck him. He forgets who he is, I think; forgets everything except what we're doing at that exact second. He's not thinking ahead, not thinking about Rae and the baby growing inside her. He's not thinking about tonight or tomorrow or what'll happen in a week, a month, a year. He's thinking about _this_, about me driving into him. I've never seen anyone abandon control like that.

I envy him. Even as I'm making him cry out and as he's making me cry out, I'm thinking about that moment when he'll walk away. He'll have to; he always has to walk away eventually. Most of my mind is here, on this, but it's in the back of my head: what happens when we get dressed and unlock the door, and the rest of the world comes flooding back?

I thought I'd got rid of him. I'd done all I was supposed to do: stayed away, let him play happy families. I'd even given money to that blond of his, equipped with a full rousing speech convincing her to keep the baby, that her and Steven are going to have some kind of bright and shining future.

When he'd come into the office, all bold and _sure_, sure that he knew me, I'd been ready to kick him out.

_You want me just as much as I want you. _

I'd grabbed him, turned him back round to face me. Fear had flitted across his face. I think he thought that I was going to hit him.

I thought I might. It would have been better, because then he could hate me like he was meant to. But I didn't want to see the disappointment on his face. Weeks ago, the last time I'd kissed him, he'd told me something. I didn't want to beat that out of him.

And now here we are.

I come inside him, finish him off with my hand. He's flushed from head to foot, a beautiful shade of pink, and even when he's come he's still hard. If I touched the head of his cock now I think he'd let me, even if it hurt.

He gets his boxers on, me my trousers. He's rubbing his shoulder. He looks smug, like he knows the effect he has on me. It was good. We both know it was good.

"You need to get dressed."

I don't know how long we've been in here, but there are people who will be looking for us.

Maybe I've lost my touch, because he doesn't seem to be listening.

He comes towards me, and I know, I just _know_ what he's thinking.

"Don't go." He's smiling.

"I have to. I have to."

He shakes his head, still smiling, leaning towards me now. He wants another kiss. He wants to be fucked again.

"Don't -"

He silences me with a kiss. Pathetic really, my attempt to get him to stop. This isn't how it works - he doesn't lead things, he's not _supposed_ to lead things - but he's pulling my shirt off my shoulders, and I know he'll take off my trousers next, and he'll ride me on the desk.

That's when the door open and the rest of the world comes in.

::::::

_Ste_

He's got this _boy_.

The whole thing is stupid. I should have known from the start. It had been Brendan's idea, so of course it was going to be a trap.

He invited me and Noah to the club, said that it was going to be a bit like a leaving party before we went to Newcastle, that Cheryl didn't want us to leave without a proper send off. I tried to imagine a scenario where it wouldn't fail; maybe we could all just have a few drinks, try not to talk about the past. We could just say goodbye, go our separate ways. He'd been okay the other day, Brendan. He'd told me I could go home and pack early, and he'd even offered me a drink, a toast like we were celebrating. He told me he hoped I'd be happy.

I thought maybe that could continue, that he'd finally learnt how to be nice, but today he's been... I don't know, _weird_. Sort of twitchy. Cracking jokes that only he laughs at. Kind of like the old Brendan, the Brendan who I don't think ever left.

I kept it casual, coming to Chez Chez in just a polo and trackies, and Noah did the same - nothing fancy. If Brendan wanted to hand us out free booze then he could, but we weren't going to make a big deal of it.

I looked around for Cheryl. It was only when I couldn't see her that it I realised that I never really expected her to be there.

I'd noticed this guy standing beside Brendan a second before, but I'd blocked him out. He was nothing.

But I couldn't ignore him after that.

Turns out he's Brendan's _date_.

He looks about twelve. I'm surprised he managed to get into the club if I'm honest.

We're all sitting round a table. It's sort of cosy - a bit too cosy - and I start pouring this bottle of champagne that Brendan's brought over. It looks dead fancy, not any old crap that you can get round the supermarket.

It's for him, of course. For _Sean_. That's his name.

Noah starts in on the questions.

"So, how did you two meet?"

I've been thinking it myself. Maybe he's another bloke that Brendan knew back in Ireland like Macca. Or maybe he met him here, and they've known each other since I first met Brendan. Maybe all this time they've been together, just waiting for this moment when I'm out of the picture.

Sean gives some reply. I don't even really listen. His hand's moved to stroke Brendan's thigh. Not just touch it a bit. Not rest it there for a second before he moves away. He's _stroking_ it. Like a boyfriend would. Like you'd do somewhere private, like in a bedroom.

I stare.

Brendan never let me touch him. He'd hit me if I looked at him for too long in public.

He gets me on my own later. I'm sitting down, watching as Noah and Sean are dancing like they've known each other for years. It doesn't make sense; Sean's with Brendan, has Brendan willing to put his hands all over him in front of everyone, and he's flirting with my boyfriend. Definitely flirting with him.

Brendan fills the space that they've left. He sits close. His arm would be touching mine if I wasn't crossing my arms, leaning away from him.

"Well, he seems..." I try to think up a word that fits. "Nice."

Brendan's right in there with an answer. "Compared to who?"

"What?" I look at him then, look at him for the first time since he's sat down. He looks good in black, always has done.

"It's impossible to judge someone unless against someone else, isn't it?"

He's touching me. His hand's moving around the inside of my leg, trailing up to my thigh. His hand feels warm and solid, like he wants it to be there.

I try and get him to take it away. I put my hand over his, _get your hands off me_, and I struggle a bit.

"Convince me you don't like it," he says, and his voice is rough and low like a growl.

I say the words again, _get your hands off me_, except I don't get to finish the whole sentence because I look at him, and my eyes fall to his lips, and we're still touching hands.

He's gorgeous. Always has been.

Everything I want to say, all the arguments that I have, they all die.

Brendan must feel my dick getting hard, because he calls me weak, has a bit of a laugh about it like me falling for him time and time again is hilarious, like it's his own private joke.

He wets his lips, then his face gets serious.

"Come with me." He stands up, the warmth of his hand going.

I know what he's thinking. He's going to take me somewhere quiet, somewhere that Noah and Sean won't find us, and he's going to fuck me. Maybe against the wall like we've done before, or on his desk, or maybe he'll sit in his chair and I'll straddle him and ride him that way. Or we'll sneak into the toilets like we used to do, and he'll bolt the door and he'll open me with his fingers. Or maybe with his tongue, like only he's ever done before.

I know he's thinking it, because I'm thinking it too.

"No." I hear my voice. It takes me by surprise, the strength of it. I would have gone with him instantly in the past.

"Cheryl has a card, some going away money in the office. Come with me."

I don't believe him for a second. His back's to me so I can't see his face, but I know him, and I know that he's only saying it so I'll stand up and do as he says. He'll try everything - he'd probably say his office is on fire if it would make me join him. The right thing to do would be to stay here, wait for Noah to come back and go home, away from Brendan where he can't hurt my any more.

I can still feel how his hand felt around my leg though. It feels like he's imprinted himself onto my skin, like it's burning.

I know I'm going to go with him. He kissed me in front of everyone in this club months ago, but he couldn't do it then; he couldn't go public. But now he's touching me too, like it's the most normal thing in the world, and I know that I don't want to see him going home with Sean. I need to see this through.

I just need to wait for my erection to go down first.

::::::

_Brendan_

He's almost as cruel as he is beautiful. Almost.

He's come back from holiday in America and it shows. He's got himself a tan and his hair looks neatly styled. He seems older, different. I think he's taller.

His body looks better than ever in that tight Chez Chez T-shirt too.

I keep him away from Declan. If we're out and about and we see him in the street then I cross the other way, sometimes physically pull my son in the other direction. I don't think Declan notices. If he's sensed anything between Steven and I then he hasn't let on, and I've stopped Steven from opening up that trap of his - so far.

We see him this morning though, coming out of the shops, and this time I can't avoid it. If I dodge him now then it'll be too obvious, and Declan might start asking questions.

Steven's all big smiles, his voice cheery.

"Morning." He knows what he's doing. He's pleased with himself.

I give Declan some money, get rid of him. He likes Steven, I can tell. He's not uncomfortable around him, even now that he knows he's gay. He wants to go for a kick about like they're mates.

Steven looks at me when Declan's gone.

"It's not catching you know. The gay bug."

He's been like this ever since he's returned. I mean, he's _always_ been like this, full of fire, reckless, fearless. But more so now, like anything he was afraid of before has gone.

I move closer to him. We're looking at each others lips, or at least I know I'm looking at his.

"He's at an impressionable age. You're confusing him," I say.

"What, with the truth? Right. Well I must stay away from him then."

"I'd appreciate that, thanks."

He nods, and for a minute it's like we're in on this together, like we're _sparring_. It's not quite friendly, but it's a game, and we're both playing it, and I've missed him.

Then he stops playing, tells me that soon I won't have to see him ever again when he finds a new job. He goes into the club, and my smile breaks. Since when has he been looking for something else? _Since when? _Are we not going to talk this over together? Was he not going to tell me, really tell me so we could consider our options? Of course he wasn't; he knows I would have stopped him then, like I'm going to stop him now.

Even as I'm doing some paperwork I'm thinking about it, considering all the ways that I can keep him here. I could talk him round, or if that doesn't work then I'll offer him a raise. We're making a profit here and I can just about afford it. And if I can't then one of the other staff will have to go.

He's not going anywhere.

When he comes in later he's whistling. He puts down the crate he's holding onto the bar, smiling. He looks free. I wonder if this is what he was planning the entire time he was in Disneyland, trying to find the quickest route away from me. If he leaves the club then he'll just be a passing stranger. I won't see him every day. I won't watch him leave for the night, zipping up his jacket if it's cold, walking home in his polo shirt if it's not. I won't hear him humming some shit pop song or see him making the drinks in that way he does, where it's always just right. He's the best barman we've got.

He's also a cocky bastard now. Not the Steven who I drove past in the car with Declan, leaving behind him and his kids.

He wants me to know it. He has a whole fucking speech.

"When I thought I was going away with you and Declan, I really thought we had a chance. One last chance that is."

It stings, the memory of it, and the suggestion: one last chance. Like I've used up all my chances now, and we have nothing left.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you." I say it causally, but I wonder if he knows how true it is. How nothing about it was easy. I hope he does, and I hope he doesn't.

"No, don't worry about it. Cos you know what the crazy thing is?"

"What?"

"You wanted to come. You wanted us to be together, didn't you? You, me, both of our kids. But you bottled it. Because when it came down to the wire, hard man Brendan Brady didn't have the guts, did he?"

He's animated like he could go on forever, punch after punch with his words. He knows he's right, and he _loves_ it.

I don't have an answer. I make a noise; it sounds painful.

"No," Steven says. I don't think I've ever hated him more.

I laugh, although none of this funny, never has been, and I move past him, walk up the stairs and picture his face: is he smiling in some kind of twisted triumph that he's finally got one over on me?

I shut the door to my office and sit behind my desk.

_You wanted us to be together, didn't you?_

There are fantasies that I keep for the dark. I keep them for dreams, or for the moments before I go to sleep when I allow my mind to wander, and I don't stop myself from going there. All other times it's locked. I don't give myself access.

Yes, I wanted it. I wanted him and me and our kids, all of us, to go on holiday together. I wanted us to drive to the airport, to get on that plane, to sit beside Steven the whole way there, seeing the excitement building on his face. I wanted to see that his faith in me had been restored. I wanted to be the one who made him happy.

I wanted to see our kids being _silly_. I wanted Declan to not have to worry about me running out on him. I wanted to see him getting used to Steven, and learning more about this relationship we had. I wouldn't tell him much, because he's a smart kid, and he'd know that there was something going on. He'd see in the quiet moments that me and Steven, we've never just been friends. Never could be.

I wanted to be proud of myself. I wanted to not feel like a monster, like someone who constantly ruins everything for everyone. I wanted to tell Steven I love him again, and have him say it back, and for us to share a room and a bed, and even if we didn't fuck we could wrap ourselves around each other until we fell asleep.

I wanted a lot of things, but they're not for the daylight. I put a stop to them, and when Steven comes into my office I hit him, and I tell him we can patch him up like he's a broken doll.

::::::

**2012**

_Ste _

He looks tiny in the hospital bed. It's weird, because he's bigger than when I first met him - more muscular, I mean. His arms look massive sometimes, look he could hold me up with them if he wanted to.

But he looks small now, and weak.

I feel a sting in my eyes like tears.

I look at him for a little while before he notices me. They must have given him something for the pain, because he looks out of it, his speech slurred. He's attached to machines.

"Don't worry. It's not contagious." I can't believe he's joking even now.

'You look all..." I can't finish the sentence. I can't even begin to explain how he looks - how it _feels_, seeing him looking like this.

"I know." He finishes it so I don't have to.

I swallow, try not to think about the way he was before. If I compare that Brendan to this Brendan then it hurts more.

"Cheryl says you're going to be alright though, yeah?" It doesn't feel like a question when I ask it. He _has_ to be alright. But either way, I need him to reassure me.

"Cheryl hates me, Steven."

I move closer to him. It feels stupid to carry out a whole conversation in the doorway. I hadn't planned on staying for long, but a quick _hi, hope you get better_ won't do. I have something to say, and he deserves for me to tell it to his face.

I shake my head. "No, she'll come round in the end." It seems impossible that she won't. They need each other, her and Brendan. The way she's stuck by him, fighting his corner, even when other people left. I don't know what he'll do without that.

"Not this time." It's like he's trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. It's the Brendan Brady way; if he acts like he doesn't care, then he won't care.

I look at him. Properly look - see all the wires around him, and wonder how he got to be like this. I know there was an explosion, but it doesn't explain this. It doesn't explain how someone so strong can be in a hospital bed, wearing one of those gowns and having to be looked after.

I wonder if he's remembering the time when I put him in this place.

"Does Douglas know you're here?"

It's the last thing I'm expecting from him. I wonder if he'll get some enjoyment from the fact that I've snuck out to see him. But he doesn't seem like that, like he's ready to throw it in my face.

"I can't stay. I just came to tell you something before someone else told you."

He sits up in bed, even though it must hurt him to do so. Maybe he knows what I'm about to tell him, or at least the importance of it, because he's looking at me carefully, like he's worried.

"What is it?"

I don't think I've ever seen his face like that. Or not for a long, long time anyway.

I look down at the floor, at my hands, anywhere but him.

"I'm engaged now."

I look up, meet his eyes, and he looks lost.

"To Doug, obviously. Wouldn't be no one else, would it?"

Because it wouldn't have been him, ever. He would have said no if I'd asked him. He would have punished me for it.

His mouth's open like the breath's been knocked out of it. His nose has a wound on it, a cut, and his left eye's swollen and red, but he looks worse than he did a second ago.

"I just wanted to tell you first." I'm still rambling, still getting the words out, and it suddenly seems the worst idea I've ever had to come here. "I wanted to be the one to tell you."

I could have just left it. He'd have found out from Cheryl or from someone else, and he could have dealt with it. I owe him nothing. _Nothing_. It would have served him right hearing it from someone else, and it's not like he even cares, is it?

It looks like he's breaking. I still feel like crying.

He looks for something to say. For a second, just for a second, I think he's going to tell me something else than what he eventually says, which is _congratulations_.

I smile at him. It takes everything I have to do it, but I smile.

"You should go now." His voice is whispery, almost just a breath. "Please." I don't think he adds it to be polite; he adds it because he needs me to go right now. Like it's urgent.

"Yeah. Yeah." I turn around, already ready to leave this place, and then I mumble the most cliched thing I can think of, _get better soon,_ like he's some distant relative that I've come to visit.

I think I'm going to go straight back to work, but I surprise myself, stay for a moment. I'm outside the hospital and there are people walking past, getting on with their lives. They don't even look at me, and I'm relieved; I lean against the wall, and all I can think about is him in that stupid gown, and how he once told me he hates hospitals, and how nervous he'd been when I'd visited Amy after the fire.

He hates them, and now he's stuck in one knowing that I'm going to marry Doug.

It's the control, isn't it? He knows that once I marry Doug he'll no longer have a hold over me, and he hates that. He won't be able to manipulate me anymore. I'll be away from him. It's something permanent, marriage. It won't be like with Rae and Noah where Brendan was still able to mess with my head, trying to get me away from them.

It's all about what he wants. It always has been.

He's good at pretending though. He was good back in that hospital room, because when I told him he'd looked wrecked. It hurt to look at him. I felt like I was exposing him somehow, peeling back the layers of his skin until he bled.

I start walking. If I don't then I might go back to that hospital room, and I might forget all the reasons why I need to stay away from him.

::::::

_Brendan_

There's a knock on the door. I'm alert, waiting. I know it's not him - Walker would never _knock_, but anything seems possible now.

I tighten my hold on the gun.

Someone calls my name. Steven.

I lift myself up with my crutches, quickly moving to open the door. The sooner he's in here the better; I need to see him. Need to know he's safe.

I let him in, and he's all positivity and life. He's the opposite of the world I've been living in.

He's made me food. Jam sandwiches. I almost ask if they're seedless, but I don't because I know they are, because I know he knows me.

He's dressed casually: jeans, a blue T-shirt and a dark jacket. It makes a change from seeing him in those jumpers. Sometimes I think Douglas hand knits them for him.

He tells me to call him if I need anything, but then he stops; he's seen the gun, the gun that he helped me get.

"What are you doing with that out? Brendan, promise me you're not going to do anything stupid." He asks me again, asks me to promise him.

I can't. It's not stupid if I'm protecting him.

"I can't let anyone take you or Cheryl away from me."

I've thought of nothing else since Walker's come back into my life. It's clear who he'll target. He knows. He knows it's Steven and my sister, that they're the two people I can't lose.

Steven busies himself. It's almost like he pretends he hasn't heard me. He goes to the kitchen, just to get away from me for a bit I think, to make things ordinary: getting a plate out of the cupboard. Pouring himself a glass of water. I glance over at him, and it's like he's never been away. He seems to remember where everything's kept from when he used to spend time here; afternoons when we had the flat to ourselves.

When he comes back through to me I see that he's laid out the jam sandwiches on a plate. He passes it to me. It's on the soft white bread I like best. I check - seedless.

We talk about Cheryl, about how the hell I can look out for her when she can't stand the sight of me.

"Just tell her what you just told me. You're in trouble, and so are the people that you love."

I wonder what he thinks about when he says that. He must know. He's a smart lad, Steven, smarter than people think. The people that I love - who does he think it extends to? Lynsey's gone. My kids are safe from Walker; I can't see him hopping on a plane and going all the way to Ireland just to get at them. Aside from Cheryl, there's just him. There is no one else.

He tells me he can help me, but when I ask him how he's stumped.

"Don't know."

I'd laugh at him in different circumstances. That's what Steven's grand master plan amounts to: _don't know. _

Then he's full of encouragement.

"Look, I know you've got some psycho after you. Cheryl's not speaking to you, legs aren't exactly working..."

"Steven!" Christ.

He laughs. Not that booming laugh of his, but softer.

"Sorry."

I don't know how, but his blue shirt brings out his tan. He looks _radiant_, for fuck sake.

I think he's given up, that he knows it's all a lost cause, but then he starts again.

"You're Brendan Brady, aren't you? There can be nothing so bad that you don't come out on top."

There's not an ounce of doubt there. It's like he thinks I'm Superman.

I like the way he says my name. In that accent of his Brady sounds longer somehow, _Bradeh_. He used to call me _Bren_ sometimes, in the old days, when we were alone together. It's been a while though.

I tell him the truth: that I don't know if I've got any more of my fight left in me. Things aren't like they used to be. I'm not the man he first met two years ago.

He sighs, rolls his head back like he's sick of hearing it.

"Brendan." He repeats my name, asks me to look at him - _makes_ me look at him, with a hand holding my face. I feel his fingers against my cheek, his palm under my chin. "Everything will be fine. It'll be fine." His voice is gentle. I think about all the hate that used to be there, all those times when he couldn't stand the sight of me, when I could see the disgust rolling off him. I don't think he would have cared if he'd never seen me again, and now here he is, in my flat, making me lunch, and he's telling me that everything's going to be okay and he's touching me like he wants to.

I lean in, try to kiss him, because I know only he can make everything better.

I'm so close to his lips, _so close_, but he evades me, standing up like he's been electrocuted.

I don't even know what's happened.

"I'm here as a mate, right. That wasn't fair on Doug, that."

"No it wasn't." I don't give a fuck about Douglas, but I give a fuck about him, and he's angry with me now. I've fucking _ruined_ it.

He tells me he's going, grabs his jacket and heads for the door.

"Steven, wait." I get to my feet even though my legs throb and shake, and I feel unsteady like I'm swaying. "It's not safe for you out there. Not for anybody I -"

Maybe he does know more than he lets on, because he's out of the door before I can finish, an angry shake to his head like he's tired of it, so tired of it all.

I collapse back onto the sofa. The gun's been put out of my reach, but I don't try to get it back. If I hadn't tried to kiss him he'd still be here, still be beside me, talking to me, keeping me sane.

This would never have happened years ago. I'd never try something like that. He'd be the one kissing me, wanting me. He'd be the one in pieces, his head a mess, uncertain of something like he always used to be: girl drama, or going on and on about wanting us to be a proper couple. The first night I had him over here, he'd been on the sofa staring up at me, my hand on his face as I'd waited for him to kiss me. The wait had seemed to stretch on for eternity, but it had to be that way; it had to be him thinking that this was all his idea, all his doing.

Now I'm reduced to this: hoping that he'll come to me, hoping that he'll kiss me. I'm always waiting for him now.

::::::

_Ste _

My mouth feels unbearably dry when I wake up. I've got a tube over me, and for a second I think that's why my throat feels the way it does, so I try and pull it away from me; I put it back when my head begins to feel foggy, when it feels like I can't breath.

Everything's hazy. I try to remember what's happened, but it all feels like it's drifting away. Anything I do remember is surrounded by a kind of smoke, so distorted that it might not be real at all.

Doug fills me in on the blanks. There was an accident at the wedding. _Our_ wedding - we got married.

He shows me the ring on my finger. It's large, silver, and things rush back to me: the wedding. Being dressed in a suit. I think i remember walking down the aisle, and dancing with him.

Other things are still out of reach.

Did I say yes? I must have done, mustn't I, if we got married. I don't remember saying yes though. I don't remember him asking me.

I think it's just going to be me and him, but later on Cheryl comes and visits me. Doug leaves us alone.

"You had us all worried there for a bit, kiddo."

"Us?"

"Me and Brendan." She looks down, hesitates like she doesn't know if she should be saying it.

The doctors have told me that I need my rest, that my body needs to recover. But the way I can feel my pulse fluttering in my wrist - I must be fine. I must be doing okay if it feels like I can feel the blood racing around my body, making me feel awake despite the drugs they've given me.

"Has he come to see me?"

I must have slept through it. I must have fucking slept through it all. Brendan in this room, standing over my bed, watching me. How could I sleep through a thing like that? Is that why it feels like I dreamed of him, because he was actually here the whole time? Is that why I was expecting to see him when I woke up?

"Yeah. When you were first admitted."

Brendan came. Brendan, who hates hospitals, who almost died the last time he was in one. He came to see me.

"He should know that I'm better now." I wonder if he'll turn up, do the whole grapes and flowers thing - _no_, I realise immediately, Brendan doesn't do flowers, and he'd probably have finished all the grapes himself by the time he gets here. But maybe he could still come, speak to me for a bit. I think I'd like that.

I can see that Cheryl's not convinced. She doesn't think it's the right thing to do, for whatever reason, and she's close to telling me no. Or maybe she'll lie to me, tell me she'll ask Brendan, and she never will.

"Please. Can you do that?" I need her to do that for me.

I wait for him. I wait all day. I listen to the machines and the sound of footsteps up and down the halls, the buzz and the noise and the steady stream of beeps. When I'm not waiting for him I try to think, to remember.

Was Brendan there on my wedding day? I can't picture it. I don't remember him coming, and I don't think it's something he would do. It would be weird, wouldn't it? Walking down the aisle towards Doug and seeing Brendan sitting there, watching me go. Either he'd try to smile, try to make out he was pleased for me, or it would be worse and he'd not act at all. His face would show everything he was feeling. He'd distract me, saying those vows with him in the room, listening to them all.

Was it a normal day for him? What did he do if he wasn't at the wedding? Maybe he was at the pub drinking, or at the club working. Or maybe he was with some other bloke, because he usually has someone, doesn't he? He's not going to always be on his own. One day I'm going to look up and there he'll be, with someone else. Maybe he won't be _out_ out, not all proud and that, and not like a proper couple, but still. He always finds someone new. There was Vinnie, and Macca, and maybe Pete, and then there was me. There have probably been others, people he never told me about, and there'll be others again.

Doug's real in front of me. He's dependable, he's _here_.

He hugs me, holds me tight.

I can see the doorway from where I'm sitting. I've got my chin resting on Doug's shoulder, and I'm looking out into the corridor. There's a shadow. I focus, wait for the person to turn the corner, and - yes, _yes_, it's him, I'm sure it's him - and I get ready to pull away from Doug, to make myself look presentable. I'm shirtless, and I'm not sure if I've got any clothes with me, if they've thrown away the suit that I came here in, my wedding suit. But Brendan won't be fazed, will he? He's seen me like this lots of times. He's seen me with bruises before too.

The shadow moves, moves so that I can see the person it belongs to.

It's not him. I see it straight away. It's a doctor, or a nurse; it doesn't matter, because it's not him.

The man passes through the set of doors, out of sight.

I don't think he's coming. Cheryl could have told him, but maybe he's decided that it's better if he stays away. Maybe he doesn't care; he's got his life to be getting on with, and I'm not part of that anymore. Other things are coming back to me: Brendan told me to marry Doug. Before the wedding, he told me to give it another chance. He told me that love's like a leap of faith, that it's worth it, that you have to trust that you won't go up in flames.

I remember him walking away, leaving me to go back to Doug.

::::::

_Brendan_

His feet get cold in bed. I get his drawers open, throw a pair of socks at him.

"Ta." He puts them on, rubbing his arms with his hands to warm himself up. Might have to get us one of those warm blankets, put it under the cover.

I get back into bed and he cuddles up, lays kisses on my moustache like it's been his plan all along to aim for there instead of my lips.

"Bren?"

"Hmm?" It wasn't my intention to fall asleep, but I'm already heading that way. I've had the mince pies he's brought and some whiskey, and it's settling in my stomach and making me feel like I'm drifting off.

Steven anchors me back to him. He's got that tone to his voice that he sometimes gets, almost childlike in its hope.

"I just realised. It's our first proper Christmas together."

I don't tell him that I hadn't just realised it. That it's been in my head all day.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Because last Christmas..." He must be thinking back to it now, because his voice becomes a bit strained, like he's recalling all of its terrible glory down to the most precise detail. "Well, we weren't really...we weren't really talking then, were we?"

I'd just got out of prison. I'd fired him come January. I'd punched him again soon after. Happy fucking Christmas and New Year.

"And the year before that," he continues, seems determined to keep this light, "You escaped out of the nearest toilet window and left me, didn't you?" There's a note of amusement in his voice that I know he would have been incapable of at the time. Maybe it's forced now.

"It was the front entrance."

"What?"

"It wasn't the window. I left out of the front door."

We've never talked about this before. Never gone over our disastrous date. I'd returned after Christmas and he'd been angry with me, avoiding my calls, but he hadn't brought it up again. I think he'd known I wouldn't have it.

"Thought it might have been a tight fit." He looks down at my body under the covers, seeming to forget that I was skinnier back then. Even so, I wonder if he ever truly believed that I'd fit through the bathroom window.

I'm about to pursue it, ask him how long he waited, take a trip down memory lane, maybe even ask him how he spent that Christmas. But I don't: it's two years ago, and it's another lifetime from then to now, and I don't even recognise the person I was when I made those choices.

I murmur it into his hair: _sorry_. I don't know if he hears me, but I hear me, and I know I've said it now, as I should have said it a long time ago.

We're both exhausted. What with the meal at the pub going wrong, and Steven running after the kids all day, and me trying to get my head together and not screw this up even worse than I was doing, I reckon we could both sleep for a week.

You don't waste time, though. Not when you've lived without each other for as long as we have.

I tickle his feet, then tickle under his neck, and kiss there too. Steven's wriggling and giggling, his cheeks flushing, then shushing me for making him forget to be quiet.

"Did you lock the door?"

I nod.

"Have you got...you know...the stuff?" He's twenty three. He's not afraid to tell me how fast and hard to rim him, how he likes his dick to be sucked, where he likes my cock to rub against inside of him, but he's afraid of saying _condom_.

I get up, use the opportunity to get out of my clothes. I consider being slow about it, teasing him, but he's not the only one who wants this now, and I can't prolong it any more. I drop the clothes in a hurry, shirt last so that for a second my cock hangs out underneath it, just visible when I walk to get the condoms from the plastic bag. They're new, ones he brought earlier today, and the lube's new too; the sound it makes, the cap coming off, seems to make him excited. He tells me to come back to bed, pushing the cover aside for me to get in.

The lube's slippery in my hand. I spread it evenly over my fingers, then tell Steven to turn over. He props himself up on his elbows, tongue darting out as he looks at me over his shoulder.

I nuzzle my nose against the soft cheek of his arse.

His hole looks closed. After what we've done the last couple of days, I expected it to at least be tinged lightly pink, or for it to not be so tight against my finger when I press it. I grab the lube from beside me again; empty more into my palm, kiss down his lower back, my tongue trailing there. He loves that; he arches into it like he's shivering with pleasure.

"Go on."

He's expecting me to finger him, but I take him by surprise, lift him up by his stomach slightly so I can get hold of his dick. He makes a keening noise as the cold lube hits his cock, and then he settles as I warm him up. I jerk him off to a rhythm, then focus my attention on his arse again. I spread him with my other hand, then dip my tongue lower, open him up.

I've rimmed guys before. Some like it, some don't, and I find out which one it is fast enough. No one's ever reacted quite like Steven has.

He can't stay quiet for one thing.

I let him be loud. He remembers the kids and then he's got the pillow in his hand, is squeezing it tightly with every movement of my tongue. I _love_ this, but this is all him: the way he pushes back asking for more. The way his cock's getting harder in my hand. The way sweat's making his back glisten. The way he's reaching behind himself, his torso twisting as he tries to hold my cock, feel it. He's flexible, see.

He sits up, chest heaving, his hands twining around my necklace.

He shoves me back onto the bed, climbs on top of me. He reaches for a condom, tearing it open and being rough with his hands as he puts it on. He angles me into him, stomach muscles tensed. He dips down, whispers between kisses, _Best. Christmas. Ever. _

::::::

**2013**

_Ste_

I'm making myself useful: cleaning glasses, arranging the straws, filling the salt shakers. I knock some over, start cleaning it up and throw some salt in the air behind me. I hear a sort of yell, and when I turn around Brendan's there, blinking from where I've got the salt in his eyes.

I apologise, but he's advancing towards me, face blank except from where something like anger shows through. I back away until I hit the bar, and I'm still saying sorry, and he's still not saying anything.

His hand moves towards me. I go stock still, wait for what's going to happening, and then he's grabbing some ice cubes from the bar and I hear the sound of my tracksuit being unzipped.

He's looking at me, challenging me, mouth gaping open as he slides the freezing cold ice down my back.

I moan as it trickles down me at a slow pace that feels excruciating. Brendan's laughing, his tongue peeking out of his mouth, and now I see that he wasn't angry, wasn't angry for one second. It's just that I rarely see him being like this, being playful. When we weren't fucking before we were arguing. This, me and him just having fun - it's all new. I'm still getting used to it.

I laugh with him, and I wonder if my smile's as big as his is. I want to warm up, maybe take my tracksuit off and grab a towel, wipe away the ice. It's just me and him here at this time of the day. He could come with me. We could warm each other up.

I'm still laughing when there are footsteps coming up the stairs. We're not alone any more; it's that kid, that Kevin, and he's looking like he knows he just interrupted something.

I wish he'd turn around and walk straight back out.

"New kid in town, is it?" I don't know what Brendan's doing hiring a boy like that. Joel was different - Joel I can understand with him being Warren's son, but not this.

Brendan looks uncomfortable. "See ya." I think that's me getting the brush off.

I stare behind me at Kevin. He's taking his jacket off. He's skinny, all arms and gangly legs, light brown hair and this bit of stubble. I know Brendan's type, and this is it. He's not that different from Macca. And that Vinnie, I bet he looked like this. He was meant to be young, wasn't he? And that lad that Brendan kissed at the club that time, and took home with him, he looked around Kevin's age. His hair was a bit darker, but their faces - it wasn't all that different.

I give this warning look. Kevin's not even looking at me, so I doubt he sees it, but I give it anyway. _He's mine, right. I've waited two years for this, and he's mine, forever. _

I walk away, think about the fact that I'm going to be leaving the two of them alone together. There's something about the boy that I don't like; the way he keeps appearing, sniffing around. It's not something an employee would do: it's something that someone who's _interested_ would do. I know because that was me once, wasn't it? That was me trying to get close.

I think Brendan's just going to let me go, but then I feel it, feel him slapping my bum.

I look at him. I can't believe he just did it. We're in his club, his business, and there's someone else in the room. Anyone could walk in and see us. It's not just the way he's slapped me; it's the way he's staring at me, like he's planning what he's going to do with me later when it's just the two of us. He's walking to his office, but it's in his head, I know it is.

I make a_ call me_ gesture. Brendan nearly walks into the wall as he watches me go.

I run down the stairs every step of the way. I can still feel the sting of his hand. My bum's probably gone red. I'll have to ask him to kiss it better.

I go into the deli. It's my day off but I want to check over some things quickly, see if the staff we've hired are settling in okay. It's so easy now; the way I say hello to Doug, giving him a wave, nicking some of the samples we've put out, saving some in a tissue to give to Brendan later. I look at the specials we've got today. It's not Brendan's kind of thing - too fancy - and I make a note of including something that's a bit more up his street. How do I make jam sandwiches sound posh?

I go into the back, round to the bathroom. I lock the door and stand in front of the mirror, checking the damage.

My bum's a bit red, but it's fading fast. I grab my phone from my pocket. The lighting in here isn't great but I take a picture anyway, and it's just about visible when I look at it. I select _Brendan_ and press send, and wait.

It takes a few minutes before he gets back to me.

_Come over._

_Now?_

_Later. Doing paperwork now. _

_What about Kevin?_

_Who?_

I know he's just messing with me, but it makes me smile anyway.

_I'm still waiting for that phone call._

He doesn't reply yet, and I think maybe he's switched his phone off, gone back to work.

_You alone, Steven?_

_I'm at the deli. Going back home in a sec. _

_Good. _

I glance up at the mirror, see colour rushing to my cheeks.

_Why good?_

_Want you alone for our phone call, don't I._

_Oh yeah?_

_Yeah. _

I feel frustrated. He's not giving me much, just enough to keep me going.

_Tell me then._

_Wait for it. _

How long has it been since I left him? Ten, fifteen minutes? I wonder how long that paperwork takes.

Another message before I can reply.

_Just make sure you're alone. In your room, yeah?_

My dick's straining in my tracksuit bottoms.

_Ok xxx_

I say goodbye to Doug, rush home.

His voice is warm like whiskey when he calls me.

_You alone, Steven?_

_Yeah._ It's like he told me; I'm in my room, door closed, the place to myself.

_Good_. He says nothing for a moment, like he's thinking how he's going to play : _Take your clothes off for me. _

::::::

_Brendan_

There's this life that we're building, me and him, and it's fragile and it's difficult and sometimes I think I'm going to lose it, but it's real.

Here in the quiet of the kitchen, the oven warm with what we've made and the radio on in the background, anything feels possible. This, what we've done today, it feels momentous.

We're in matching aprons. I used to hate this place; kind of ironic, seeing as how I was the one who gave him the money for it, but I came to hate everything that it represented. It took him away from me. Or at least that's what I told myself, before I had to admit that I did a good job of pushing him away all on my own.

It's not so bad though these days. This kitchen, this deli, it's okay. Even the _husband's_ okay. He keeps out of the way, gives us space, and he seems happy enough, like we're not the only ones moving on. Once the divorce with Douglas is finalised, we'll take it from there.

It's been a good night. I was nervous about it, this _baking_, this thing which is so far out of my expertise that Steven had to step in at one point, tell me that I was kneading the dough wrong. Apparently you're not meant to hit it like you're starting a fight with it. Who knew? Gentle, he said, and he showed me, his hands over mine, soft. He's got surprising hands, Steven: they're bigger than mine, and they're strong. They're strong enough for us both.

We've talked a bit, about everything and nothing. Some of it's casual; things the kids tell him about school, or where he thinks we should go this summer if we both manage to get some time off work. Rome, he thinks. He's always wanted to go to Rome, or maybe America again. Disneyland with the kids. He looks at me like he's waiting for me to turn him down, but I say okay.

_Okay?_

_Yeah. We could sort something out. _

There's months till the summer. Going away with our kids doesn't seem so bad anymore.

The rest of the time, it's not so casual.

We talk about the important things, the things that have happened to us lately. Him losing the kids. The rows. Him being left here while I sorted things out in Ireland.

"I know things haven't exactly been perfect between us, and that's my fault." I know it is, like it's always been my fault. Sure, he's played his part at times; laid into me with his cutting remarks like he's been rubbing salt into the wound. Kept Declan from me, staying at his flat when I was worried and out looking for him. But he wouldn't have needed to lay into me if I hadn't hurt him, and he wouldn't have needed to hide Declan from me if I wasn't such a failure as a father, and if he hadn't been afraid of what I'd do.

All of it, it all stems from me.

Steven jumps in, tries to reassure me. His forgiveness astounds me, the way he's willing to move on from it.

I stop him though; this needs to be said.

"I'm going to be there for you, to help you get your kids back."

He mentions change: I pounce on the word, say it back, _I have changed_, and I have, haven't I, otherwise what's the point in all this? What am I even doing here with him if I haven't changed, if I know that I won't hurt him all over again?

"You, me, Leah, Lucas. We're going to be a proper family. I'm going to give you the future you deserve."

It's all there in black and white, and it's up to me to bring it to life. I can see the way Steven's face is lighting up, like I've just given him everything he's ever dreamed of. He looks like he can hardly believe it, but I'll make him believe it. I'll show him, give it to him.

I never thought I'd want a family like that. Eileen, Declan, Padraig; I tried. I tried over and over again, and for a while it worked, and for most of the time it didn't. But this, this set up which shouldn't feel normal, with my boyfriend and his two kids that aren't mine, but feel like mine in every other way - it's everything. It feels like everything that these last two years have been about. Or maybe before that; maybe even before I knew he existed, I was waiting for this and I didn't even realise.

Things are shifting tonight. It's not going to be the way it always was. It's not just me that's changed - he feels it too, _little scally Ste making good_, and for a moment I think he's drunk and I ask him, but no, it turns out he's _happy_.

He asks me if he I want him to shut up, says that he's been talking non stop.

"No, don't stop. I like it. It calms me down." I'm not lying. His chatter, listening to him talking about his kids and his day, about us, it's become part of this routine we have. It's comforting. I miss it when he's not around. Going to Ireland and being away from him, it hit me; without him to fill up the empty spaces, life doesn't mean much.

He looks at me like I'm mad.

"What?" I smile. When did this become common, this smiling thing? I don't think I've ever smiled so much in my life as I have when I'm with him.

"Like an old married couple, aren't we?"

Like I said: things are shifting.

"Wouldn't be so bad."

Steven comes towards me, makes this _awww_ noise and I echo it back to him. I wait for him to say whatever he's going to say next, but my phone rings. It's work. Fucking _Kevin_, bleating on about something going wrong and needing me to come in. I only take half of it in; the other half of me is focused on Steven. He has flour on the top of his head from where I coated him with it earlier.

I have to go to the club. It doesn't matter though. I'll only be a second, and one day, one day I'll ask.

::::::

_Ste_

We're at Chez Chez with the back door open. We're close to the balcony, the village in front of us.

I can feel him pulling away from me like he has so many times before. The difference is, I know why now. A lot of things, things which I could never understand, they're all falling into place.

"I've told you what I think you should do." I say it as gently as I can. I won't be rushing him into this. There'll be no pushing. This is on his terms, when he's ready.

"It's a bad idea." He's shrunk in on himself, arms crossed, defensive like he doesn't think he deserves to take up any space. He's still avoiding my touch. I'd wanted to sit next to him on the sofa when he told me, but I didn't think he'd let me. I'd barely moved, just listened.

I want to hug him, but I still don't know if he'll let me. I've got this sinking feeling that he thinks it's _me_ that won't want to, like he thinks I suddenly feel differently about him because I know now what his dad did to him.

"You've got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

He doesn't get that I love him more than ever. That I'll stand by him no matter what. There's nothing he could do that could make me stop loving him.

"I've been ashamed my whole life."

It breaks my heart to hear it.

I kiss him, silence him, show him that I still love him, still want him if there's any doubt. He doesn't reach out and put his hands on me like he usually does, and it's close lipped, but I can feel myself calming him down. It's soft, and we make this kissy noise as our lips break apart. I cradle his head, lean my forehead against his. I'll give him all the strength in the world if he needs it. I'll give him my strength too.

"I love you, and you love me. That's all that matters." It is; if we have that, we can get through anything. Walker, and me losing the kids, and the allegations that Kevin made, and him hitting me - we can make it through all that. We'll get help. He can see someone, someone like who I saw after I hurt Amy, and we'll tell Cheryl all about what Seamus did. We'll go to the police, or if Brendan can't do that then we'll drive his dad out of the village, make sure he stays away forever.

Or I'll get my hands on him, kill him myself, and that'll be it.

Brendan takes a deep breath and manages something like a smile. He's the bravest man I know. The best man, the best man I know.

"Maybe in the next life you'll get a better me. One who'll deserve you."

"No." _No._ I'm not going to let him do this, think that I don't belong with him. I've felt it ever since he hit me, that he thinks something's broken forever between us. It's _not_. We can fix it.

It's not going to be in the next life. I don't want a different Brendan, one that he think is better. _One who'll deserve you_ - does he think that I'm some kind of saint, perfect? Has he forgotten about the things I've done, to him and to Amy, and to other people in my past? If I wanted someone _better_ then I would have got on that plane and gone with Doug to America, or I would have stayed with Rae, or I would have gone with Noah to Newcastle. I would have found someone else, some bloke who wouldn't hit me or mess with my head or run out on me. Someone uncomplicated.

But I didn't, because all I've ever been able to see is him. I don't want to go back in time and change things, because it's brought us here, now, and we can move forward from here. I have him with me, and it's going to be in _this_ life.

He looks at me like he's daring to believe that I'm right, that we can do this.

"After today, we get our happy ever after."

I nod, certain, so certain now, just continue nodding even when he's ready to disagree with me. That's him, though. He sees all the things that could go wrong, all the reasons why things could never work out. If I have to spend the rest of my life convincing him that things can be good, then I'll do it.

I walk down the steps of the club and out into the village. I don't look back up at him; I'm determined now, ready to put this into motion. I'm going to give him time to talk to Cheryl, to tell her the truth about Seamus. I'm going to phone Eileen - Brendan needs his kids. It's not fucking fair that he's been kept from them all because of what Walker and Kevin have done.

Kevin: I think for a moment about finding a way to contact him, but I know it's useless. Not just because I don't know where he is, but because it would get in the way of this fresh start of ours. I could beat him up, and it's something I think I'll dream about, but what would be the consequences - him going to the police if he has the guts, making an official complaint? I don't want to spend this happy ever after in a cell, rotting away there while Brendan deals with everything alone.

Kevin can live the rest of his life knowing what he's done. He can run off to whichever hole he crawled out from in the first place. It's nothing to do with me and Brendan any more.

As I'm walking past the shops I'm worried for a second about bumping into Seamus; worried because I don't think Brendan would want me to hurt him, and this is about him - what Brendan wants, what he needs right now. I imagine it though, imagine breaking every bone in Seamus's body until he begs me to stop. I imagine asking him _why_, why he would do that to his son. Brendan was just a kid, just a little _kid_, hardly much older than Leah is now.

But there is no why. I know that. There's no explanation. It happened, but we're going to survive this. Everything that Brendan said we'd get - us all together being a family, with the future ahead of us - it's going to happen. After today it's all going to happen.

::::::

_Brendan_

There's knocking. It's loud, and then there's a voice, frantic: _Brendan. Brendan let me in. I've just heard gunshots, two of them. I know you're in there. Please. _

I could do it. I could let him in, just open the door and tell him everything. He's desperate, I can hear it, and he's scared. I've made him that way. I'm shutting him out, leaving him out in the cold, and there's this whole other life opening up to me in my head as my real life begins to close.

We could be quick. We could go back home, me and Steven, and we could grab our things. We don't need much - some spare clothes, our passports, enough cash to get us by. Then we'll run. We'll head to the aiport and jump on a plane first chance we get. It doesn't matter where we go. Maybe not Dublin or Belfast, because that's the first place the police would look. But anywhere else - somewhere hot. He likes the heat, especially at this time of year when the winter's still clinging and he burrows himself close to me like he's trying to steal my warmth.

We'll get a flat. Somewhere small. We've lived in that pokey little place of his for months now, and we've more than made do. We're used to peeling wallpaper and dirty dishes and old, stained carpets. It doesn't matter if we don't have a double bed; we can squeeze into a single, and the closeness will make both of us turn every time one of us shifts over.

The police will stop looking after a while. They don't know anything. They have nothing on me. Cheryl could get rid of the CCTV. _DNA:_ it flashes into my mind like a shadow. My fingerprints are all over Seamus, all over the gun too. Okay, so maybe they will have something on me. But give them a couple years and they'll stop searching for me. I'll shave, get rid of the moustache. They'll have bigger cases soon, more dangerous people than me to lock up.

I look at the door. Steven's inches away, so close that I wonder if he can hear me on the other side.

_Cheryl._ She can't go down for this, but if we get the story straight she won't have to. She found me crouching over Seamus, gun in hand, his blood all over me. She didn't know what was going on, and she couldn't stop me from running. She was frozen, terrified, traumatised by seeing her dad lying there.

She had no part in any of it. As long as I get her to say that she could be okay. She didn't touch his body, only the gun, and I've taken care of that.

Everyone knows how close she was to him. She'd never hurt him, no one would believe it. She doesn't have a stain on her record like me. She's a good girl.

I want his arms around me. I want to put my arms around him. I almost call out _Steven_, just so he knows I'm alright, that I'm alive. He's persistent, calling out and knocking, and I think about all he's done for me, all he's forgiven me for, and how he's still here. I can still see the bruises from where I hit him. His face has cuts left behind. His body must be sore. It wasn't like before; it's been a punch in the past, not a rain of blows like it was this time, again and again until I never thought I'd stop. The blood. I don't think I'll ever stop seeing how much blood there was.

I can't ask him to stay with me after all that, can I? This thing, this relationship, it can't move forward from this. I imagine it, imagine always wondering if he's only stayed with me because of what I've told him. Would he have left me if he hadn't found out about Seamus? _No_. No, he wouldn't have. I'm certain of it, don't know how but I am. We'd slept together. He'd let me touch him again, even after I'd hurt him. He'd shaken his head when I'd tried to stop him, when I'd said no because I wasn't worthy of sharing his bed. He'd kissed me until I'd turned weaker, until I kissed him back.

He's not going to leave me, ever. I see that now. I could hurt him again, punch after punch _again_, and he'd still be here. I wonder what kind of man he'll be in ten, twenty years, if I'll have beaten ever last shred of joy out of him.

I'm not strong enough to leave him. I can't keep away; after a couple of days in Dublin I knew that I couldn't live without him, that eventually I'd come back even if it was just to check on him, see that he was doing okay, and that was before I knew what it was like, before I knew what it felt like to have a boyfriend, a family.

_After today we get our happy ever after. _

He's changed since I met him. He's bolder, braver. He doesn't accept things he used to accept. I remember when he used to apologise to me, when I used to twist it so that it was his fault, all of it. He wouldn't take that now, and I wouldn't ever try it now. He's changed physically as well; he's still a slip of a thing, hardly any meat on his bones, but he's got rid of that fringe that I used to sweep back with my hand. I liked his hair then and I like it now, the way it shines in the light, almost looks as golden as his skin sometimes.

I love him. I love him when he's had a bad day and he's angry with me, sulking. I love him when he's had a good day and he's hyper, too much sugar and caffeine, excitable. I love him all the other days, too; when he's a challenge, when he's a pushover, when he looks at me like I'm the man I never thought I could be, but hoped someday that I might.

This future - we could have it all if I open the door. It's a possibility, and it's so real that I have to let it fully form in my mind, give it space to exist.

Then I let it go.

::::::

**2014**

_Ste_

Sometimes when I wake up I think he's still beside me. I can smell him on the sheets. I know it's impossible, but it's his scent, only his: the aftershave he always wore, and something that's just him.

Life moves on. It moved on quickly while I was stuck still. In the days and weeks and months while I still talked about him - brought him up in conversations when I could, and went to the club to feel close to him, and visited Cheryl and Nate - everyone else kept on moving around me. The world kept turning.

The people that knew him, that really knew him were gone. They'd moved away or they'd died or they wanted to forget about him.

The worst moments are when I first wake up and I think nothing's changed. They happen often; less now, but still too much. I'll stretch in bed, roll over and expect him to be there. Sleeping maybe, or awake and playing on his phone, or already in the kitchen making us some breakfast, trying not to burn anything.

I used to sleep alone. Then there was Doug, and now there's John Paul, and this is it, I guess. This is it. This is my life.

It sounds strange, but he's everywhere. I hate it. I see him everywhere. Not him, not his actual face, except once or twice when I've been out of it, and then I see him clearly and hear him talking to me too.

It's more the things that remind me of him.

He had this mug that he used to drink out of sometimes. I don't know why he chose to make it his, because it was never very him; it was orange with white streaks through it, and it was the mug that Amy used to use. I never told her that. I wonder if she'd hate it, knowing that they both used the same mug.

It got ruined when the flat got burned down. Almost everything did except a couple of things. But I found a similar one in the supermarket one day, and John Paul saw me looking at it, told me to buy it. So I did.

I drink out of it now. Maybe John Paul thinks it's only mine, because he never goes near it.

It's not just that. There are other things, a million different things. I know it sounds stupid, but it's moustaches. I've never told anyone because they'd laugh in my face, but whenever I see them on clothing or on anything I stop what I'm doing and I turn in the opposite direction. Once I was in the middle of doing a clothes shop and I just put my basket down, left it in the centre of the shop and got the bus back to the village.

Music too. I thought it wouldn't be difficult to avoid. Brendan hated pop music, anything recent, and it's not like I listen to anything he'd listen to. Most days I just put on the radio, but it turns out I couldn't even do that anymore without remembering. There was this song, that _I Kissed A Girl_ by Katy Perry, and I remembered him singing it one time to Leah, getting all embarrassed that I'd heard him. Then there was this Cheryl Cole song, and it took me back to this moment when I'd told him I liked her, and he was being cold at the time, and things were strained, but then we made up afterwards like we always did.

Everything's connected to a memory.

I never told anyone this, but once I locked myself in his office and played his music. It was after a night out with John Paul at the club - it's called The Loft now, like it used to be years ago - and I'd ended up talking to the DJ, getting him to turn the music up higher.

I spotted something next to him.

"What's this?"

"Don't know. Found it with the other records."

It was one of Brendan's. Johnny Cash.

The day when it happened I was off my head. I'd been drinking a bit too, and when I went to the club I expected to be kicked out, but there wasn't anyone around. They were outside and it looked like they were having a row with the delivery men about something, and I snuck right in. I was quick about it: I got the record, put the volume right up, and then I sat in Brendan's old office on the floor, my head down and my eyes closed, just drifting. I didn't think he had that power over me anymore. He'd reduced me up this, just sitting on this dusty floor in the middle of the day, listening to Johnny Cash singing. It seemed stuck on a loop, the same words over and over again:_ because you're mine, I walk the line,_ and I really expected it then - I really wouldn't have been shocked to have seen Brendan walk through that door. I was waiting for it.

Sometimes I try and think that this is the life that I would have had if I'd never met Brendan. A boyfriend who's there. I don't need to worry about whether he's going to hit me or fuck off back to Ireland, leaving me on my own and missing him. A job waiting tables, something stable - and I probably would have just continued to work with Tony if Brendan hadn't shown up.

The difference is, I know now. I know that other life.

It's a nagging voice, the one that tells me that this is good, that this is right and better than before. That I've finally got what I always wanted, and I need to let go of everything that came before it. It wants me to believe it, and it's annoyed at the way I keep hanging on.

I shut it down. I shut it down because there's this other voice, Brendan's voice, and it's a cold night and we're on that bridge and he's telling me that he can't live his life without me. Or we're in our flat and he's saying that he does love me, very much, and that nothing I could do could ever change that. I need that now, because sometimes I'm not sure that he could still look at me the same way after the things I've done.

Or we're in that hospital room - I don't let myself go to that place often - and he's telling me that he's never going to feel any differently about me. He's promising me.

By the night I've settled down, and I'm faced with the knowledge that he's not here anymore. That I'm never going to see him again. Sometimes I can't even decide what's worse; the loss of him when I remember in the mornings feels like I'm dying, but the slow, sinking reality of knowing that he's gone forever cripples me. Maybe it's better to have those moments when I think he never left.

::::::

_Brendan_

I used to like those four walls. Moving in with Steven, it felt safe. It was _our_ place, and we had a routine. We knew which side of the bed we slept on, and we knew where things went - our aftershave, our toothbrushes (mine electric, his manual), our clothes, although towards the end they got mixed in with each others, and sometimes I'd catch him walking around in a vest of mine which looked overlarge on him. That dressing gown too, the one that remained soft no matter how many times you washed it. That became ours, and when one of us wasn't wearing it the other would take it.

Four walls didn't used to feel so bad.

It's a large prison, this one I'm in. I'm in a different block to the one in my first stint. The one back then was maximum security, and so is this, but the surroundings are different. I don't recognise any of the people who work here. They've got badges with their names on, but it seems pointless to learn them. I'm nothing to them, and they're nothing to me.

Time passes slowly in here. I'd forgotten that, forgotten how you're never allowed to forget that you're in here for life. Every day feels like that life sentence, time stretching on indefinitely as you struggle to fill it with things: going to the gym, meal times, medication time if you've been prescribed something, and therapy. Always therapy, and visits from your lawyer, and visits from Cheryl. Nate's come with her a few times too. I thought he'd be spooked by the whole thing. It's so far removed from the world he's been raised in, but he's been good. He's good for her, and that's all I ever asked for.

It's been a year but she still cries when she sees me. Sometimes I have to tell her to keep it down, or she has to leave early; I'm scared of her raising her voice, of her letting something slip. She's come close to it. There was a time when I thought she was going to talk to someone, tell them the truth and get me out of here. Nate talked her round, reminded her of all the reasons why that would be disastrous for all of us. She's pregnant. I won't see her raising her baby in prison, or having it taken away from her. That's not a possibility. If she tells anyone what we've done, then it's all been for nothing.

She gives me updates. She's heard bits and pieces, and she filters them through to me slowly. Nothing too much all at once - it's like she thinks I can't take it - but with every visit she's given me more information, so that a year later I feel like I'm gradually getting a picture of it all.

Some of it I couldn't believe. Douglas is dead. The flat's gone - our flat, mine and Steven's - and the deli. There was something else too, something that she wasn't telling me, was skirting around for weeks until I confronted her. She was on edge, not meeting my eyes.

Turns out Steven got back with the husband. They were together for a while, Cheryl said, soon after I'd gone. Guess he didn't wait around for long.

"He told you this?"

"I don't think he meant to tell me, Bren. It just sort of slipped out." She looked like she regretted bringing it up, but it was done now. I wanted to know; maybe it was a kind of punishment, like I had to find out the details, had to think that he'd moved on fast so that the decisions I made had been worth it.

"What else did he say?" It took all the strength I had not to question her more. I wanted to know everything - all the conversations they'd had, how he'd sounded, if he was happy.

"Not much. He never says much."

I found that impossible to believe. Steven's not quiet, never has been, not once you get to know him.

The more I pushed her, the less she said. Recently it's stopped completely. She doesn't mention him, doesn't bring up their phone calls if they're still having them. Every time I try to ask it's like she knows, and she quickly changes the subject.

I miss the sound of his name on my tongue.

I don't get to say it anymore. Sometimes I do it anyway, just say it to myself in the dead of the night when I can't sleep, sound it out like I'm praying to a God that I'm not sure exists anymore: _Steven. Steven Hay. _I'm scared that if I stop saying his name he won't seem real anymore.

I try to imagine that he's got everything good he deserves. Maybe he's found a better flat, somewhere closer to town. He's a brilliant chef - he could have been hired by someone else by now, or already planning for his next business. He might have got the kids back. Maybe Amy's gone travelling again and she's left Leah and Lucas with him.

I can think of all that, but it's the last thing I struggle with; picturing him with someone new, someone who gets to share his bed, who gets his heart, who gets all of him. I start imagining the best person possible, someone stable, someone who loves him and the kids, someone who can give him the future that I couldn't. But even then I can't do it. Something twists inside of me, _jealousy_, and it feels like poison that infects everything. I've given up believing that I can make him happier than anyone else can - I don't think I ever believed that - but I'm holding on to the need to _try_.

I don't know how to live without him.

I remember hearing about him from one of the officers in here. _There's a guy, keeps on hanging around the entrance, wants to see you. _He was irritating them, not going away even when they asked him to. I'd been here less than twenty four hours. Steven must have got the bus up.

"What's he look like?" I'd played it casual. I didn't need the hassle of people finding out what he is to me.

"Short brown hair. Skinny. Wearing a tracksuit. Manchester accent."

My throat felt tight, constricted.

"He's been told he needs a visiting order." The officer looked bored, glancing away from me like she'd exited the conversation already.

He came again the next day, and then he stopped coming after that. I got a few letters too; they went in the bin, unopened. I was doing both of us a favour. If I'd read them then I might have reconsidered, backed down, and where would that lead us? I could never tell anyone that it had been Cheryl, and Steven couldn't come and visit me everyday for the rest of his life. I'd already ended things for myself. I didn't need to end things for him too.

It doesn't change things though. It doesn't change anything for me. Everyday until I'm in my grave I'll think about him.

::::::

_Ste_

I don't know what I've done.

When I wake up he's not in bed, and he's not in the kitchen either. I think he's gone without saying goodbye, without even leaving me a note or a text, but then when I go to the bathroom I see that the door's locked.

I knock. No reply.

"John Paul? Are you in there?"

Still no answer.

I knock again, getting worried.

"Come on, open up." I start thinking that maybe someone's broken into the flat, but it doesn't make sense. What kind of burglar breaks in and heads straight for the bathroom, barricading themselves in there?

The door opens a crack, just enough for me to see one side of his face. Even with my limited view I can see that his eyes are red.

"Have you been crying?"

He says nothing, just stares at me.

"What's wrong?" My mind races. Something to do with his family, or Matthew, or maybe the police have contacted him and something's happened with Finn?

The door opens wider. He's definitely been crying. He wipes his eyes, and when he looks at me again I feel like it's my fault. It's like he's waiting for me to say something, to explain myself.

"What?" I touch his arm, but he moves away from me, walks into the bedroom. He must have been up for a while; the bed had felt cold when I'd woken. He busies himself now, moving across the room, gathering things up, and it takes me a moment to realise that he's packing.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Home."

"Why?" We'd arranged for him to spend the entire weekend with me, give us a bit of time together.

He stares at me. There's that same look of accusation, a kind of _you know why_ look.

"John Paul." I feel my anger rising, and I try and stop him from grabbing anything else to take with him. I don't know what the fuck he's talking about. "Come on, wait. Just wait. What's gone on, eh? We were fine last night."

"When are we ever fine?" He does this kind of bitter laugh, shakes his head at me like I'm deluded.

"We...we were. I cooked for you, I..." I had tried to make it special. I had _tried_.

"And what happened after that?"

I frown at him. I'm not going crazy: everything _had_ been fine. After dinner we'd messed around a bit, gone to my room, fucked, then fallen asleep.

"Just tell me," I say.

He comes right up in my face. His cheeks are red like his eyes, and his hair looks like he's run his hands through it.

"You talk in your sleep, you know."

It starts building then, this uncomfortable feeling like I'm about to fall into a trap.

"Right." I laugh, nervous. "So what? Did I say something bad, or..."

"You said _Brendan_."

I'm still for a moment, then I recover.

"That doesn't mean anything. You can't blame me for something I say when I'm asleep."

I'm as angry as he is now.

John Paul turns away from me, bundling his clothes from off the floor into his arms. He doesn't seem to want to get changed out of his pyjamas in front of me.

"You must be thinking about him."

"Don't be stupid."

"You think I'm stupid?"

"I meant you're _being_ stupid. I was asleep, John Paul. _Asleep_. I can't control what I say when I'm like that, can I? I wouldn't blame you if you said Craig's name."

"Wouldn't you?

"No."

"Why not?"

He's lost me. "What do you mean, why not?

"Why wouldn't you blame me? Do you not get jealous?"

"Not really, no."

"That's weird, because when you found me in Dublin with Brendan you seemed jealous to me. Every time you saw me after that you hated it, didn't you?"

I can't believe he's bringing this up. Something from years ago, from a different lifetime. I wonder if this has been in his head, if he's been keeping it from me and I never even knew.

"Why do you care about something that happened back then?"

"Why do you? Why do _you_ care?"

Both of us are silent, breathing hard. It's like the fight's gone out of him. He drops to the bed, sinks onto it like he's drained.

"This isn't working."

I'm straight over to him, on my knees on the carpet, staring up at him and holding his hand.

"Yes it is. Of course it is. It was working last night. It's...it's always worked, hasn't it?"

"Has it?"

"Listen, I know you're upset, and... I get that, I do, but what I said, it really didn't mean anything. You're the one who I come home to. You're the one who I see everyday."

"Because you can't have him."

I shake my head, his hand still in mine, still holding on.

"No, that's not..."

"It's not just today, Ste. It's not just this moment. It's everything." He stands up, shrugging his hand away from me, keeping distance between us. "I've felt it since the start, but I thought that we could stop it from happening. There was so much to focus on. The trial, and trying to get you clean, and...there was always something. Now there's nothing, and we don't know what to do. We don't know how to stay together."

Panic's rising in me like a wave. I can't lose him. I _can't_. He's the only thing I have.

"What do I have to do? I'll do anything for you to forgive me. _Anything_."

"I'm not angry with you." It's true; he doesn't look angry, not anymore. He looks tired. He looks like he's giving up. "We needed each other at the time, and it was necessary, but..."

"No. No, don't do that." He's saying goodbye. That's what this is. This is a goodbye speech. It's final. I close the gap between us, take his head in my hands and kiss him. He doesn't let me; he keeps his mouth firmly closed, angles his head back so that I have no choice but to let go. I don't want to kiss someone who doesn't want to be kissed.

I take my hands off him.

"What do I do then?" I think I'm speaking to myself more than to him. "What do I do?"

::::::

_Brendan_

There's this lad.

He's twenty four. He's on a different floor to me. I don't know the ins and outs of what he's done, but I've heard rumours of robberies, car theft, that sort of thing.

He's got light brown hair, could almost pass as blond, and these scrawny legs which seem to go on forever, and big eyes. He smiles nervously around me like he's still getting the lie of the land, unsure.

I'm in the gym when he comes over to me.

"You lost?"

"What?" He looks confused.

"Didn't think this would be your sort of thing." I look at his arms, the way they fall at his sides like they weigh nothing.

He pouts when he's annoyed.

"No, I'm not _lost_." He's full of scorn, more bold now. He watches me as I continue lifting weights. "Your arms are massive."

"Got to keep busy, so." It distracts me, just as running always did; the burn of the pain is something to focus on.

"Right." I think he's about to go away, but then he speaks again. "Brendan?"

"What?"

"Who's that woman who always comes to visit you?"

I'm about to tell him to fuck off and keep his nose out, but he's just a kid. He could be mistaken for eighteen, nineteen.

"Woman with the blond hair?" There could only be one woman, so I don't know why I'm asking him. Anne's visited me once, but it's been difficult with her living in America, although she phones often enough. Eileen's never come.

"Yeah."

"My sister."

"Oh, right." There's a note of relief in his voice which is easy to pick up on. He continues, his cheeks noticeably pink. "I thought maybe she was your..."

"What?"

I let him sweat.

"Your girlfriend, or your wife."

"I'm gay, so. No." I continue to lift the weights. Something tells me that I don't need to worry about this kid running along and telling his block about this.

He crouches down, almost sits on the carpet. He's got a Northern accent, a strong one.

"There's this guy on my block who's sleeping with an officer."

I raise my eyebrows. "Yeah?" I've heard about that happening, but I've never seen it myself.

"Yeah. He thinks we don't know, but some of us have...you know, heard it." He chews on his lip awkwardly. "They just go into his cell, start doing it."

He says _doing it _like a teenager who can't say the word sex.

"Okay." I lift the weights at a quicker pace, breathing through the discomfort.

"It's easy to...you know, do stuff without people getting told off." He plays with a loose strand of the carpet. "None of the guys snitch, you know? Everyone just keeps to themselves, pretend that they haven't seen anything."

I nod.

"If you want you could..." He looks up at me, meets my eyes, and then stops. "You know."

I don't know what else to say but _right_. He shuffles off, glancing back when he's at the doorway before leaving.

His words buzz around in my head for the rest of the day. It could be easy, so easy to take him up on it. It's been a long time, and I didn't think an opportunity would present itself like this. There had been a guy before during my first stint who I thought might be that way, but nothing had ever come of it. I'd been too busy trying to stay alive.

I come close to it. There's a night that I'm lying awake. It's noisy outside; some nights are quiet, but not this one, and there's a high pitched screaming drifting down the hallway, and a constant banging noise. I've allowed my mind to drift to where I rarely allow it to go: Steven. Nights we used to spend together, when he'd wake up in the early hours and wake me with him, and he'd do something to get my attention; play with my balls in his palm, or roll me onto my front and kiss my arse, or grip his cock and put on a show.

I think about what he's doing now. Who he's doing it with.

Why the fuck shouldn't I? It's been a year. He hasn't waited. He won't have waited with Douglas, and he won't have waited with whoever he's been with since. Chances are he's not lying awake right now and thinking about me, so why should I be thinking about him? I'm getting whispers from people - Chez, Nate, my lawyer - that my sentence could be reduced. There are proceedings going on. I started to think more rationally about things. My original confession had been drowned out by the noise of the helicopters. In that interview room, all I admitted to was Seamus' murder.

Things have been put in motion since. It's likely now that I could be out of here in less than five years if we take this back to court, tell them what Seamus did to me. It's not something I ever thought I'd do, but I'm not going to let him win either. I'm not going to spend my life in here.

I might see Steven again. But I've already prepared myself for the possibility that he might not want to see me. He could be twenty eight by the time I get out. He's grown up without me, could have an entirely different life now. He's moved on; it's obvious. I can't expect him to still be the same person he was when I last saw him.

I see the lad in the canteen the next day. He looks at me, smiles a little, and I smile back. I know he'll let me fuck him. I know he wants me to. It would feel a relief in a way, getting Steven out of my system, kissing someone else again, because I've carried him around ever since I lost him and it's killing me.

I go up to the lad, start talking to him, sit with him while we eat breakfast. He's okay - he's a bit dim, and he laps up praise like he's never had any in his life, and he's got these defined cheekbones that you could cut glass on. Thing is though, he's not Steven. Talking to this lad, it wears me down after a while. I'm not used to _talking_. The only talking I've done in here is to a therapist, and it's like it's taken it out of me. It became effortless after a while with Steven. We knew where we stood with each other, knew that this was it for the both of us, and I liked it, the sound of him chattering away, bringing colour to my life.

It's a reminder, being with someone else, just having a conversation with them.

It's a reminder of how empty my life is now.

::::::

**2015**

_Ste_

They've fucking locked me up, haven't they?

I'm in this treatment centre - _prison_ - and they've got me in this room that's almost bare except for my bed and a desk. It's like they don't trust me with anything else in case I try and use it to slit my throat, or slit ones of theirs.

They keep on looking at me, all the staff here, like I'm a bomb that's about to go off. Whenever I go out of my room they're all over me, asking me things, trying to nose around in my life. _We just want to help you, Ste. We want to find out why this has happened. _

Don't they think I want to know that too?

Tony's paid for the whole thing. There's no way that I could afford something like this. He's come to visit me whenever he can, and he tells me that it's not costing him much, that it's fine that he's paying to keep me here. He's a liar. I know it must be rinsing him dry, that he must be using all the savings he's got to keep me here.

I can walk out whenever I want. I could just step out of that door right now, walk into the open air and head back to the village. I could call the guy who's been dealing for me, ask him to bring some stuff here. I know he would.

I don't know why I haven't. It's been two weeks and I'm still here. The staff keep telling me it'll get easier. They're fucking psychos, all of them. They haven't got a clue. It's getting harder. I'm clean now, and it's all coming back to me, all the crap that I stopped having to think about for a while.

Killing my mum, and Doug and Danny dying, and losing Brendan. It's all rushing back. I thought it had stopped hurting a long time ago. This woman I'm seeing, this therapist, she's saying that it's a good thing, that remembering is important. That doesn't make any fucking _sense_. How is remembering all that ever going to help me? It's making it worse. It feels like it's happening for the first time.

My sisters have visited a bit. Sinead came once or twice but then it all sort of fizzled out. Amy comes every weekend, sometimes more when she can get time off work and when her fella can look after the kids. She even offered to bring Leah and Lucas here, thought that she could find some way to explain all this in a way that wouldn't scare them, but I said no. I don't want them here. I want them to remember me in a good way; their dad who would take care of them, who wasn't this massive screw up.

I've just finished having lunch when one of the other residents tells me that I've got a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

I don't know how she's got her number. I'm silent for long enough that she says _Ste?_ like she thinks I've gone.

"I'm here. How are you, Cheryl?" It's been a long time since I talked to her.

"Good, yeah."

I try and think of what was happening the last time I spoke to her.

"How's the baby?" I think of whether she'd settled on a name when we'd last talked. I can't even remember if she was having a boy or a girl.

"She's good, yeah. She's getting so big."

I'm happy for her, but I also feel like there's a sour taste in my mouth.

"How are you?" Her voice is full of concern.

"How did you get this number?"

I never told her that I was going into this place.

"When I couldn't get hold of you I called Tony. I know you started working at his restaurant."

"Right, that's..." I remember telling Tony not to spread the news round. I didn't want to be someone that people started gossiping about, even though I knew that it was bound to happen. John Paul knows, and he would have told Myra and his sisters in the end, and they can never keep their gobs shut.

"Don't be mad." She's read my mind. "I just wanted to hear that you're okay, babe."

She's talking to me like she used to. Like I'm important to her, like she really cares. It's comforting, and it's also weird; it's two years ago again, and nothing's changed, except everything has.

I don't know what I should go for, the truth or a lie.

"I'll be okay," is what I end up with, because I have to hope it's true.

"I never knew that you even touched that stuff, Ste."

"Are you judging me?" I've raised my voice a bit, and one of the guys who sleeps down the hall from me shoots me a look as he walks past.

"What? No, I'm not..."

She was, wasn't she? I thought I heard something. _Shock_. Maybe it was just shock.

"Sorry," I mumble. "Sorry, I didn't... I never used to... Chez, I didn't used to do that. It was just something that happened." I know how stupid it sounds, but it's the best explanation I've got.

"If I'd known..."

She couldn't have stopped it.

"I should have called you more. I'm sorry. It's just with Lynsey, I..."

_Lynsey_. It takes me a moment to realise that she's talking about the baby.

"Don't worry, I know. I remember what it's like when they're young."

"You should see her. She's a gorgeous wee thing. Maybe when you're out of there you can come and see me and Nate."

"Yeah," I say, but I'm thinking _no_, for reasons that I'm not sure I can explain to her. It was nice, going to see her after Brendan had left, being around people who knew what had really happened. But having to see her life in closer detail - her house, her husband, her baby - it's too much. Just hearing about it is hard. I'm happy for her, I really am, but I can't be around to see it play out in front of me.

"Are you allowed visitors there?"

I don't know what she's imagining; me in a locked room chained to the bed, no windows open, no light let in?

"Yeah, 'course we are."

"I might come and visit you, if you like."

I'm stuck in that same position. Not wanting her to visit, but wanting to see her too.

"Maybe when I'm feeling a bit better."

"Okay. Ste, also, there might be some news soon."

My heart stops. That's what it feels like.

"What?"

I don't read the newspapers. I haven't watched telly lately either, and if I do it's hardly ever the news, so I don't know if anything's been announced. But it's impossible anyway - he's only been inside for two years. He's in there for life; he'd said so.

_Hope dies last._ I think I heard that once, from someone somewhere, and it must be true because so much has gone from around me, so much stripped away, but there's still this hope which is here all these years later that he'll come home.

Cheryl continues after what feels like forever.

"Just something Tony was saying, about him giving you your old job back when you come out."

"Oh. Yeah, he mentioned something like that."

"That's great, isn't it? Get you back on your feet again."

"Yeah, it's brilliant."

It's strange, but I've got this feeling that that's not what she was originally going to say.

::::::

_Brendan_

It's going ahead.

There's been more talks, more meetings. I'm getting the fuck out of this place.

It's not yet. I've still got months left to serve, almost a whole year, but it's in sight now. I can see the finish line.

What it took for me to get here, it makes me uneasy. I didn't want to have to reveal what I did, to tell them the whole story - well, not the _whole_ story - but it was necessary. I have to remind myself that it'll be worth it when I step out of those gates.

Things are going to be different.

I want to see my kids again. I've been in touch with my boys, phone calls here and there. It took Eileen a long time to come round, but she even talks to me sometimes now, asks me how I am. Okay, so maybe she grits her teeth a bit, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes at me and looking up at the heavens, but she doesn't completely despise me anymore, which is progress I guess.

Cheryl. I want to see her and Nate, and my niece too. All of this, this was all for her, and I need to see that it hasn't gone to waste. She always wanted this, a decent guy who would take care of her, and kids to look after, and knowing that she has that has stopped me from thinking that all of this is so fucking _pointless_.

I want to see Anne. I won't be able to visit her in America for a few years - it's a condition of my release - but she's said she'll come to Chester, bring Phoenix.

I might call on some other people. I got a letter from Peter the other day. Cheryl must have told him what happened to me and about the early release date. I don't know what I expected; maybe I thought he'd bask in me being locked up, tell me that I'd got what was coming to me after what I did to him, but he wasn't like that. He was, I don't know, _nice_. He told me that he hopes I'm surviving in here, that he hopes I have something good to come home to, and I knew what he meant.

Steven. He meant Steven.

I have no right to see him. I have no right to ask anything of him. It's been years and I wouldn't blame him if he's forgotten about me. We've been apart longer than we were together, and a boy like Steven, he's not going to be alone for long. He's _desirable_. He could have his pick, and I don't know if he'd still choose me.

I know that if I go anywhere near that village then I'm going to have to see him again though. It won't matter that I don't know where he lives now. I'll find out. I'll find out somehow, and I'll turn up on his front door. I don't think I'll have the dignity left to stop myself from begging for him to take me back. He might have someone new living with him, and I'll know all the reasons why that man will be better for him than me, but logic has never been my strong point with him.

I've already got an excuse for turning up. My necklace, my cross: he still has it. I left it at the hospital with him after his accident, and I never got it back, never planned to take it back. For all I know it could have gone down with the rest of that flat of his, but that's the point - I don't know, and it gives me a reason to seek him out. He knows I never used to go anywhere without it, and if he wants to slam the door in my face then I won't seem pathetic, won't seem like I've only returned to get him back.

It's still so far away, all of this, but it's in my head constantly.

Sometimes I try and wrap my mind around other things; Leah and Lucas being older, taller, having their own lives while I was away. I miss them. I got to know them in a way I didn't my own children, and I'm aware that there's a strong chance that they won't remember me. They were young when I left, and we'd only shared a couple of months together. Making Steven a cake with them, and building something for Leah's school project - they're memories to me, but they might have faded into dust for them.

Then there's the issue of how the hell I'm going to make any money.

No place is going to touch me, not when they find out about my record. They won't see my early release date. They'll see _murderer_, they'll see that I was sent down for killing my dad. A psychiatrist's report won't make an impact; them talking about_ trauma, child abuse, rape, _all those words that I can't read, they won't stand for anything.

I can't go back to what I used to do. I can't deal again, can't get involved with the people I used to work with. I need to be better, be better for Steven and for our kids. Even before I left things were fragile. I remember getting rid of the drugs that had been stashed in Chez Chez, and the disappointment on Steven's face when he'd seen me with them. If I become a part of that world again then he'll never trust me, never let me be around Leah and Lucas.

Even if there was a chance that I could get the club back, I wouldn't want it. There are too many ghosts. It's where I met him, and that counts for a lot, counts for everything, but I saw Seamus die there, and everything ended there for me. I know I'll hear the sound of a gunshot if I go back there. I know I'll hear the circling of helicopters, and Steven's cries as he tried to get me to open the door, as he tried to reason with the police and make them lower their weapons.

I need a fresh start. A new club if I can manage to persuade someone to hire me, with new staff.

All of this rests on Steven giving me another chance. I'm ready for him to say no, but in my dreams he says yes. None of this matters without him, so I don't let myself dwell on his rejection. I picture the scene: knocking on his door, putting my arms around him, kissing him, and then his words clear. _After today we get our happy ever after. _Except it won't be after today. It'll be now.

::::::

_Ste_

Five months clean. I've got the certificate to prove it.

No one ever lets me forget it though. Some of them are nice about it. Tony and Amy, they tell me I'm doing well, that everyday is progress, that they're proud of me. John Paul says he's glad I'm still going to meetings, sticking to a routine, not getting _distracted_. He's kind of careful when he says it, like he thinks he could take it all back tomorrow. When I bring up us getting back together he keeps on changing the subject, and when he does answer me he's all cold. Once he asked me what was the point. The point is we're both alone, and it's better to be alone together.

Other people aren't so nice. They still look at me like I'm about to steal their purses, run off with their cash to get my next fix. Once a druggie always a druggie.

It's okay though. I can take their stares and their comments, because I'm getting my life back. Tony's given me my old job, and Amy brings the kids down every weekend. She's back with Lee too. Her and Simon, it didn't work out. Lee came back from New York, and he's living with her and the kids near her dad's place. I would tell her that it's not good, the kids having so much change, but I can't talk, can I? And Lee looked after them a bit, when he was last here. He got to know them, so it's not like he's a complete stranger. Amy told me that she just felt it wasn't right with Simon, that when Lee came back she knew, asked me if I could understand that.

_Yeah,_ I said. _Yeah, I understand that. _

I talk to Cheryl more now too. I didn't think she'd stick to her promise to visit, but she did. She came with Nate and Lynsey, booked into a hotel in town because my place is a bit small, and I was embarrassed to show her it. I don't know why, because my old flat wasn't all that, but it was personal; it had the kids' drawings on the walls, and there were Brendan's things there, his clothes and his electric toothbrush and his moisturiser and shaver, so it felt like a proper home.

I thought she'd be happy - and she was, but it was a different kind of happiness. She smiled a lot, especially when she held Lynsey or talked to her, and anyone could see that Nate was good for her. But she wasn't the same Chez that I met all those years ago. I remember thinking that she'd just move on after it all happened. That she'd go back to her amazing life with her rich husband and her country mansion and her three cars, and she'd never even give me and Brendan a second thought.

She had these moments though. These moments when I was with her when it looked like she might cry. She could be bright and she could laugh, but it was like there was this darkness in her that had never been there before.

_Good,_ I thought at first. _Good, let her suffer like her brother has. _

But he didn't want that, did he? That's why he went to prison, why he lied for her.

I hate her and I love her, and it's hard when I feel both at once.

There's something going on though. Something she's not telling me. She acts like it's nothing, but she keeps on checking her phone and she seems almost as twitchy as Brendan used to be. I'd think she's having an affair if she didn't love Nate so much.

I don't know why, but it's got me _excited_. I keep thinking, even though it's impossible, even though it's never, ever going to happen and I need to get the idea out of my head - I keep thinking that Brendan's coming back. That there's been some kind of new development, some new evidence, or he's got some amazing lawyer who's got off their arse and actually done something.

I come close to asking her.

"Cheryl?"

We're sitting in a cafe and she's eyeing up the cake in front of her, not really hearing me.

"Cheryl?"

She takes a bite. She reminds me of Brendan, the way she's eating it.

"Have you heard from..." I play with my spoon, tapping it lightly against my cup, the clang of the metal ringing out. I haven't said his name for a long time, not out loud to anyone. I didn't say it in therapy. I talked about _my ex-boyfriend_, or _this man I was living with_, but never his name. "Have you heard from Brendan?"

She swallows quickly, eyes wide as she looks at me. She's turned pale.

"Why?"

I know why she's shocked. I never ask her about him.

"Just wondered what he's up to these days." It sounds stupid. I _know_ what he's up to. He's in prison and I'm making it sound like he's just popped to the shops or gone away travelling.

"He's doing okay," she says slowly. She seems to be considering her words, like she's wondering how much to tell me. "He's keeping his head down."

I wonder what that means. I know the trouble he had in prison last time. He'd come back with cuts all over his face. From what I heard Warren got some of his mates to mess around with Brendan inside, gave him trouble.

"So he's not getting...beat up or anything?" My tea's too hot but I drink it anyway. The way it burns my mouth is better than imagining Brendan being hurt.

"No." I believe her. "No, he's fine. You know, considering." There's guilt there; she can't look at me.

_Does he ever ask about me?_ That's what I really want to know, but why would he? What if she tells me that he never mentions me? He'll be surrounded by men in there. He's probably forgotten me.

"Is he...is he still there for life?"

"What do you mean?"

Again, not looking at me.

"I just thought maybe they've changed their minds. Like, someone inside. A judge or someone. That happens, doesn't it? Like with me, with my mum. They could have sent me away but they didn't."

It's different, I know it is, but I don't care.

"Ste..." Her forehead's all creased up. Her fork just sits on her plate, left there.

"No, but it does. Come on, it happens loads. I've seen it on tv, with people getting away with stuff, or getting shorter sentences. And that's when they're lowlifes, when they don't even deserve it. Brendan, he deserves it, doesn't he? He's a good man, Cheryl, a good person -"

"I know. I know he is. Sit down."

I hadn't realised I'd stood up.

I sit.

"Ste, I don't want anything to interrupt your recovery."

There's that word again, that word that I've heard from so many people lately. _Recovery_. Like I'm part of some process, like I'm part of this larger thing whether I want to be or not.

"I don't want you to start hoping."

"Too late, isn't it?"

::::::

_Brendan_

It's December when I get out.

I used to love decorating the tree. There's a tree in here, but all the pines are collected on the floor like it's already died.

Cheryl's waiting for me when I get out, Nate too. They've left Lynsey with friends - my request, because I didn't want any of her memories to possibly include this place, this tall dark building with heavy doors and high walls.

I put my arms around Cheryl, shake Nate's hand.

He's not here, but then I never expected him to be. As far as I can tell there hasn't been any news coverage about me getting out, and I told Cheryl not to say anything, so Steven must still think I'm behind bars, a long stretch in front of me.

They give me a lift back. They've offered me the spare room at theirs - the luxury they're living in now, I'm sure they've got plenty of spare rooms - but I tell them I'll stay in a hotel in Chester. Cheryl looks at me out of the corner of her eye when she thinks I don't see.

We're parked near the hotel. The radio's on, and Nate's pretending that it's drowning everything else out so Cheryl can speak to me in private.

"Are you okay?"

It feels like a loaded question.

"Fine, yeah."

"Bren... You're not going to..."

"What?"

"Contact Ste. You're not going to, are you?" I think she already knows that it's a ridiculous question, but she forges ahead. "Last time I spoke to him, he seemed...better."

"Better? What do you mean _better_?"

"Just...he's been through a hard time."

My blood rushes. I know so little about Steven's life while I was inside, and most of what I do know is from that first year, with him losing his home and getting back with Douglas. This second year is a blank.

I almost ask, but I'm afraid to. Then she says the thing I've been dreading.

"There might be someone new. He mentioned someone that he'd been seeing, that he's trying to get back."

"Right." Must be important to him, if he's trying to win him back round.

"I just think, now that he's settled... I know you loved him, and he loved you, but."

"Love."

"What?"

"You said _loved_," I say. "I love him."

"I know, but Brendan -"

"Got to go. Got to check in." I climb out of the car, wait for Cheryl to come round and say goodbye.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to ours? This place looks a bit small."

I don't tell her that after living in a cell for two years, anything seems good.

"Or we could go somewhere, grab something to eat."

I kiss her forehead. "I just want to settle in for the night, get some sleep. I'll see you soon."

I wait for her car to disappear round the corner, then I go into the hotel, get the keys for my room.

I lie flat on the bed, stare up at the ceiling. There aren't the cracks that were there in prison. There aren't the noises, the shouting, the constant thud of footsteps and the crash of doors. This silence, this peace, it's unsettling. It takes getting used to.

I don't have a plan. These last couple of years I've had one: get through each day. Find a way to get out. See him again. I didn't allow myself to think further than that, because when I tried I could never predict what he'd say, whether he'd slam the door in my face or invite me in, let me back into his life.

I only have a small set of belongings. I don't bother to unpack; I don't think I'll stay here long. I get a few things out though. Pictures - Declan and Padraig, me and Chez, one of Steven that was on his wedding invitation to Douglas. I'd got rid of the other side long ago, so that all that's left is him, smiling and golden like some kind of vision.

I smooth my hand over it, my thumb. It's worn, creases running through it.

I don't have any of Leah and Lucas. I wonder if the photos we took went down with the flat too.

I'm hungry, but I don't think I could eat anything. I try and stay busy; take a shower, turning the warm water up as far as it'll go so that the bathroom fills with steam, the mirror clouded by the time I get out. I shave, trim my beard a bit, comb back my hair, change into some loose pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt.

There's still that picture of him lying on the bed when I go back through into the room.

I throw my clothes off, change into jeans and a shirt, grabbing my coat and room key. I take the stairs two at a time, walk out into the cold winter air.

I don't have a car yet. I almost scream in frustration at having to wait for a bus. When it finally arrives I'm tapping my fingers along the seat the whole way there. It's becoming more and more familiar; the houses, the shops. My stop: I get off, and it's two years ago and I'm in the village again.

I try not to look at anything, but my eyes wander. There's the club, except it's _The Loft_ now. There's the deli, except it's some kind of clothes shop these days, and it's decorated differently. If I look for Steven's flat I know it won't be there either; maybe they've built a new block there now, or left it deserted.

I'm sure I'll bump into someone I know. I end up hiding behind a tree near the club, laugh at myself for being pathetic, and something feels familiar about that too. Even the fucking _tree_ is the same, the one I'd kissed him under the day after we'd come back from Dublin.

I watch. There are a few girls who go past, and a mother and her kid, but no one I knew from back then.

I'm about to give up, call Cheryl like I should have done from the start and ask for Steven's number. For all her warnings to stay away, I know she'll give it to me.

Then I see someone. He's emerging from what looks like a restaurant, uniform on.

When I walk up to him it's like he's seen a ghost. He just stands there, mouth open like he could catch flies.

"Tony." I nod. We're not going to be making smalltalk here, so I skip straight to the point. "Where's Steven living these days?"

::::::

**2016**

_Ste_

"I've got work."

"Call in sick then."

"I can't. Money doesn't grow on trees, does it?"

"I'll pay you."

I look at him. "You're paying me for sex now? That's well dodgy, that."

He laughs, grabs me round the middle and pulls me back into bed. To be fair, I don't put up much of a fight. I'm under the covers and on top of him in seconds, wriggling out of the boxers I'd just put on.

His eyes are bright. It's alright for him, he hasn't got to go into work till this afternoon. I check the clock: I've got fifteen minutes at the most. Fifteen minutes to do what I want with him.

I kiss down his chest, kiss over the cross and feel the metal against my lips. I keep going, get my tongue over his nipples, my teeth over his stomach. He's naked, hadn't gone to sleep in anything, and his legs rise to wrap around my neck. I hold them there, stroke my hands along them and feel the way the hair spikes up. Then I lean closer, tongue darting out. He's hard in front of me, cock lying on his stomach, pubic hair covering it. I squeeze his dick in my fist, rub my thumb across it, hard.

I try and stifle a yawn but it shows through.

"I'm sorry, am I _boring_ you?"

"Don't be daft. Just didn't get much sleep, did I?" I grin at him. "I'm tired."

He makes this _awww_ sound, then tells me to come here, holding out his arms.

I crawl into them, feel him taking away the goosebumps with the heat of his skin. I close my eyes, lean as close as I can into him. His beard tickles when I feel it on my forehead.

"You know what Tony said to me last night?"

"What?"

"That he wants you to stop coming into the restaurant."

I feel Brendan shifting a little, looking down at me.

"What? Why?"

"Don't get like that. He wasn't being serious. Least I don't think he was."

He relaxes a little.

"He reckons you _distract_ me."

I can feel him smiling.

"Don't know where he got that idea from."

"I know. Stupid, isn't it?"

"Definitely stupid." He kisses me, then rolls me off him so that I'm lying on my stomach. I close my eyes, listen as I hear him shuffling around, then hear the cap from the lube coming off. I lean against the pillow, wait for the feel of his hands.

I draw in a breath; it's cold, and he apologises and kisses me until I'm no longer shivering.

He wraps his arms around me as he fucks me. He's rocking into me, slow at first then faster when I ask him to, and I can feel his hot, damp breath on my neck.

"Hang on a sec." I want to change positions. I kneel up a little so I'm no longer lying. Brendan tweaks my nipples then wraps his hand around my cock, pumps it in time with every movement inside me.

"You like that?"

I don't answer so he asks me again, and I breathe a _yeah_. It feels like it's not just us that's rocking; it feels like the bed is too, like it's shifting from under us, like it's groaning in time with our groans.

I don't feel tired anymore. When he slips out of me we move further up in the bed and I stand up, get him licking me from beneath, get him to lie down so I'm fucking his face as he plays with my balls.

"_Brendan." _

He loves it when I say his name like this; he's told me.

He's whispering below me,_ "you gonna come?" _and then I do. I come spilling onto the sheets, then moments later he's got hold of my dick and is angling me into his mouth, the rest of my cum shooting down his throat.

I collapse onto the bed, spent, spread my legs.

He's in me again instantly, pushing me up the bed with each thrust. He's crying out, and I don't know if it's from being inside me or if it's because my nails are raking down his back. I don't ease up though. I dig them in every time he rubs over that spot inside me that feels like I'm about to burst into flames. There's a build up before he comes; he gets louder, moves faster and deeper inside me, links his hands with mine and holds me tightly, then I feel him empty himself into me.

I hit the snooze button on the alarm, curl up close to him. I go to sleep - can't be for more than five minutes, but when the alarm goes off I feel out of it like it's been hours instead of minutes.

I hear him muttering when I'm racing around, pulling my work uniform on.

"Come back to bed."

"I can't."

The sheets are crinkled around him, our clothes scattered all over the floor from last night. He's got some of my cum on his chin. I go over to him, wipe it off with my hand.

"You're a mess." I smile at him.

"Cheers."

We kiss, soft, no tongues, and he makes me presentable, flattening my hair for me and straightening out my uniform.

"How do I look?" I give a little spin, nearly topple over.

"Mint."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"No." He shakes his head, lips drawn together firmly like he's trying not to laugh.

"Right, well I'll see you tonight. Or are you going to come and visit me at lunch?"

"What about Tony and his rules?"

"I love him, but fuck him."

"Not literally I hope."

I chuck his boxers at him from the doorway.

"See you later. Love you."

"Love you too," he says. He must know I'm still looking, because he gets out of bed, dick hanging softly between his legs. He has a bit of a stretch and a yawn, shakes out his legs like they're sore, then turns around so I can see his bum.

Show off.

::::::

_Brendan_

I haven't gone back to the village since that first day.

We've got a place in the centre of town now. It's decent, has plenty of light flooding through the windows, has a good kitchen space for Steven. The bed's big, so.

Being away from where we used to live, we don't bump into people so much anymore. Steven's only there for his job, and then he comes straight back. The people that we keep in touch with - Anne, Cheryl, Nate, Amy - they're all living in different places now, so we never have to go back there. I haven't seen the inside of Chez Chez, or _The Loft_, for over two years.

It's why it's a shock, seeing him in town.

I'm doing a bit of shopping when I see him. Steven's given me a list, because he knows I'm inept with things like this. If he doesn't write it all down for me then I'll come back with a pack of bacon and that's all we'll have in the fridge.

I almost bump into him. I'm rounding a corner of the supermarket and he's there. I don't remember who he is for a second, I just remember that I know him. I stop, try and place him, and am about to move on when he speaks.

"Hi." He's holding a loaf of bread in his hands, nearly drops it.

It's fucking awkward. I still don't remember his name.

I must not hide it well, because he looks offended.

"John Paul."

It hits me like a ton of bricks. Right. John Paul. The _McQueen_. The lad from Dublin. The lad who'd been in Steven's bed while I'd been away. Playing daddy to Leah and Lucas.

I don't want to cause a scene. Or maybe that's exactly what I want to do, but I can't. He could go snitching on Steven to me, and then he'd want to know why I attacked the McQueen lad in broad daylight in a supermarket. Like I'm someone who can't fucking control themselves.

"Alright?"

He nods, then states the obvious. "Just doing a bit of shopping."

I wonder if I can run and hide behind the display of Coca Cola without him noticing.

I don't think he'll risk pissing me off, but then he does.

"How's Ste?"

I tighten my grip on the trolley.

"Steven's fine."

"Haven't seen him around much."

I nearly bite back _were you expecting to? _but I stop myself.

"He's fine," I repeat.

"Is he still..."

My curiosity gets the better of me when he trails off.

"What? Is he still what?"

"Going to the meetings? He used to go every week." He says it like he's reading out an information booklet, like he thinks I don't know.

"Yeah, he's still going." That's all I say. Steven clearly hasn't been in touch with him, and I'm not going to divulge anything personal.

"Good. Because he was in a really bad place, and..."

I step forward, letting go of the trolley.

"It's good he had friends to help him get off it. Good that he had people who immediately stepped in, helped. Supported him all the fucking way."

He loses the delicate hesitance. "Look, Brendan, I don't know what he's told you but -"

"He's told me everything." I don't know if that's true, but he's told me enough, enough for me to know that this lad, this _McQueen_ wasn't the one to get him help.

"I couldn't do anything. He was addicted. Do you even know what that means?"

"You stay with him." He blinks at me, confused. "You stay by his side no matter what. Day and night. You don't go to sleep, you make sure that he's okay, that he's alive. You do whatever it takes, whether he wants you to or not. You fight for him, you get him help, you get him through it."

I move my trolley forward, make John Paul stumble back to avoid it from crashing into him.

"Like you did, you mean? When you were in prison, when you wouldn't let him see you?"

It's an easy blow. Too easy, but I deserve it. I walk past, leave him standing there. I want to walk out, leave all the shopping behind, but I don't; I go to the checkout, pay for it all, load it into the car and drive home.

Steven's there, wrapped in our dressing gown, propped in front of the telly. He gives me a hand with the shopping and we unload it together, put it all away.

"Was it busy? It can be mad on the weekends."

I think about telling him. I word it in my head, _I bumped into your ex,_ and who knows, maybe he's got so many, people he's never told me about, that he'll need the specifics. I could ask him what the hell he was thinking, that the last time I saw them both together they fucking despised each other, couldn't stand to be in the same room.

But I don't. I don't because we all have pasts - God knows I do - and it hasn't changed how I feel about him. Nothing could.

I swallow it all down, lock it away somewhere.

"It was okay. Nothing I can't handle."

He humours me, "You're such a hero," and hands me some breakfast, a plate with toast and jam on it.

We sit on the sofa together and he has his legs in my lap. I hike up the dressing gown so I can get to the skin underneath it, feel the hair on his legs under my palm. My hand snakes higher, and he coughs on his bit of toast.

"Sorry," I say, and once he's chewed it properly I keep going, get my hand in his boxers, give him a handjob as he carries on eating and watching tv. It's a game we play; how long he can last before his eyes start rolling to the back of his head and pre-cum oozes from his slit. A couple minutes, give or take.

He gets impatient. He grabs the remote, switches off the tv, ignores my _d'you mind? I was watching that _and climbs into my lap, our empty plates lying unattended in the corner of the sofa.

"Ask nicely," I say, and I grab an arse cheek, give it a squeeze.

"No." He bites my neck, stares at me with barely concealed frustration. He's soon saying _please_, and he gets what he wants: has me jerking him off hard, and he's gyrating in my lap the whole time, pupils blown wide.

He returns the favour in kind; fingers me wide open while tugging on my dick, has me blowing my load in his mouth. He's drinking coffee a minute after, humming with one hand in my hair, stroking with the flush still in his cheeks.

::::::

_Ste_

We've taken the kids all around Chester, to everywhere that I can think of. We're keeping an eye on them because it's busy today, and it would be easy to lose them in a crowd. Brendan keeps a close watch over Leah and I've got Lucas by my side, all dressed up warmly in his new coat.

We go into a cafe to stay warm, buy the kids some juices, and me and Brendan share this massive coffee, the largest you can get. It looks like it's in a soup bowl. We take it in turns to drink it.

He reaches over, rubs at my lips.

"You had some chocolate."

"Ta. Had a good day, then?" I ask the kids, and they nod, keep nodding until it looks like their heads must ache.

Brendan stands up.

"Where are you going?

"Going to get some cake. Four forks, yeah?"

He comes back with them. The cake's a vanilla sponge with this thick icing. He passes around the forks and we all have some. He's usually a right greedy bastard, never leaves any for anyone else, but he's being slow, making sure that there's plenty left for the kids. When there's just a little bit on the plate at the end he splits it, halves it between Leah and Lucas.

"Where's my cake?" I say.

"You'll get yours later."

That's that, then.

I hate saying bye to the kids. It feels like we've only had a few hours with them by the time Amy and Lee come to pick them up.

I think Lee's still a bit scared of Brendan, all these years on. He gets out of the car this time, and they manage to chat a bit. I hear laughter, but it sounds kind of nervous from Lee's end.

Amy looks me over like she always does, checking for marks. I wonder if she'll ever stop doing that.

It's not much use anyway. I'm wearing a thick jumper, but she stares at my face. She seems satisfied when there aren't any cuts or bruises there.

I can see Brendan looking at her.

She hugs me. "Love you."

"Love you too. You sure you won't come in? We can make you some tea."

"No, don't worry. We really have to get back before the traffic gets bad."

I hope she'll come in one day.

"The place looks nice though," she says, and I feel proud. It's the nicest place I've ever lived in, and it's _ours_.

"Thanks. We've got some pictures from Christmas if you want to see them sometime. We had the lights up. It was dead cosy."

"Maybe I can see them next time." Maybe she's wondering whether Brendan will be in the pictures, because she doesn't look so sure.

"The kids loved it."

"Show me next time." She gives me a smile.

I kiss her and say goodbye to Lee. She gives Brendan a quick nod and then the kids are inside the car, driving away and waving. We both wave back until they're out of sight.

We go back inside the flat, close the door.

"You okay?" He knows how I get when the kids leave.

"Yeah. They'll be back next week, won't they?"

"Definitely." There's not an inch of doubt in it: _definitely_.

He puts the kettle on while I sit at the table.

"Brendan? Do you think..."

"What?" His back's turned to me while he makes the coffee, but I know he's listening.

"Do you think maybe the kids will remember?"

"Remember what?"

"All the mistakes I've made."

He turns round then and slowly walks over to me, pulling the chair out. He doesn't say anything, so I keep going.

"They saw a lot of things, didn't they? Not just what I did to Amy -" I've always hoped that they were too young to remember that. "But all the other stuff too. When you were gone, the...the drugs."

He puts his hand over mine, just keeps it there.

"You're a good father."

He knows I'm thinking the opposite.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm -"

"Listen to me. _Listen_. You're a good father. A good man. What the fuck did you have, eh? You had Terry and you had Danny."

"You never met either of them though."

"I know what they were like. I know what you told me. You're not a liar, Steven."

I've lied plenty of times, and he knows that. I want to correct him, but then I think: I haven't lied. I haven't lied about this.

"You were there for those kids. You've always been there."

I shake my head. "Not always."

"You sent them away for their own good. You didn't want them seeing you like that. You did it for them, Steven."

"Yeah, eventually." I feel tears in my eyes before I wipe them away. "Eventually I did. But for weeks they used to see me like that." I don't want to tell him exactly what they used to see, but I think he knows.

He makes me look at him, his hands on my face, gentle.

"You love them. Okay? You _love_ them. That's all that matters. You only have to look at them to see that they know that. If more kids had dads like you then..."

He looks away for a second. It's me bringing him back this time.

"When are your Declan and Paddy coming to visit?"

"Soon. Eileen's coming too. Guess she wants to check up on me."

I don't tell him that it's probably me she wants to check up on as well. I can already imagine the looks she'll give me, the things she'll say.

"Should be fun. No, but really, it's going to be good."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You'll still get to see them even if Eileen's around."

"Maybe she'll keep tabs on me. Ask them if they're okay every five minutes, that kind of thing."

"She'll be too busy getting at me, won't she? Wonder if she still remembers when she walked in on us...you know."

"In our boxers after I just fucked you all over the flat? Yeah, Steven, something tells me she does."

I laugh loudly. I remember everything that happened after that too, but neither of us say it.

"Steven, about what you were saying before."

"Forget it." I feel embarrassed.

"No. I mean it, okay? Leah and Lucas, they're not going to remember that stuff. It's everything else they'll remember. They'll remember today, and this weekend, and next weekend." He kisses me. He calms me down.

::::::

_Brendan_

We have a small wedding. A couple of witnesses. No Cheryl, although I know she'll be hurt at first when I tell her. Anne's still in America, so at least that's an excuse as to why she can't turn the day into one of her projects, go head to head with my sister as to who can make it the most theatrical.

Steven's got this suit on, new for the occasion. The rings are plain gold, nothing fancy, and we don't make our own vows, just stick to the simple ones. It's quick, no fuss, and then we're out of the registry office and into the fresh air.

"Home?" I ask him.

"Home."

I carry him through the flat. It's his idea; _this is what people do, Brendan_, and even though I remind him that we're not exactly like other people, I grant him his wish.

"You put on a few extra pounds, Steven? Can hardly carry you."

"Shut up." His elbow prods into my side. "You're stuck with me now, aren't you? Even if I put on a million pounds you're going to have to stay with me."

"One word: divorce."

"I'd kill you."

I kick the front door closed behind us and walk through to the bedroom. It's weird when I think about it: I have a _husband_ now. It's second time lucky for us both.

We've both booked tomorrow off work, so neither of us are in a rush to get an early night. I suggest we get a takeaway - he shouldn't cook on his own wedding day, for fuck sake - but he insists, says he wants to. I think he's still not over the size of the kitchen, the way the surfaces gleam.

He makes us steak, rare how I like it. He pokes his with his fork, staring at it.

"The blood's practically dripping off it."

"Have your chips then."

He passes me his steak and pinches the rest of my chips so we're even. He gets ketchup all down his shirt, starts swearing and then_ of course_ he has to take it off. He's bare chested next to me, sitting there in his smart black trousers still.

"Grab one of my vests if you're cold."

He goes into the bedroom and gets one. It's too large and he could pass for a teenager.

"Want a beer? He says.

"Get the champagne."

"We don't have any."

"Yeah we do. Check the fridge." I'd put one in there earlier in preparation for tonight.

"Wow," he says when he comes back, pouring it into glasses for us. "How much did this cost you?"

"Doesn't matter." We raise our glasses and toast, and then he's sipping it. He likes champagne, Steven. He's not much of a wine drinker, and it's rare that he'll have whiskey. He hates Guinness, but give him champagne and he's happy.

There's only so long that this can last, him in just that thin vest. Especially when he gets _flirty_, when he moves to kiss me but then evades my lips, letting out a giggle like he's hilarious.

"Want a bath?"

He looks at me like he knows what I'm suggesting. We fill it to the brim, put some bubble bath in it, wash each others hair. I give him a beard made of bubbles to match my own.

"Do I suit it?" He turns his face, gives me a pout like he's a model.

"No."

"Oi."

"Sorry." I wash all of him; tell him to stop wriggling and screeching when I do his feet and tickle him there, and hold him against my stomach as he leans back and I run the soap over his tummy.

He's waiting for my hand to go lower. It does, briefly, then comes back up again as I wash his back.

He swivels his head to look at me, frowning.

"Brendan."

"What?"

"Aren't you gonna..."

He's sort of shy. It's an unusual paradox; when I have my cock inside him I can't get him to shut up, and he'll tell me what he wants and how he wants it. But sometimes he gets like this, all coy flutterings of his eyelashes and mumbled requests.

"Tell me. Show me."

He takes my hand, guides it down, wraps it around his dick and moves it at the speed he wants. After a few seconds he gets comfortable again, leaning back into me, closing his eyes and still guiding me.

I whisper into his ear, _I'm going to fuck you all night,_ and he comes in the bathwater, its swirl mixing with the bubbles and vanishing.

We don't get dressed when we finish. He wraps a towel around himself and I dry myself off, but then we're naked again, pressed against each other from head to toe. He's frantic with it, urgent like he thinks we've got a limited amount of time, and maybe he's still not used to this; maybe he thinks it's all a dream, this endless amount of time in front of us, this idea of forever.

"Slow down." I lick around his neck. His skin's peppered with the marks that I've given him; bites sucked into him, imprints on his arse cheeks from where I've gripped him as he's rode me.

I push him onto the bed. He lands there with a bounce. He's delicious like this; eyes glazed over, dick erect, legs spread to accommodate me.

I listen to my own advice. I take it slow, and it starts to get excruciating for him. I finger him open, take my time, add more and more lube to make it easier on us both. I feel around inside him, watch as his breath comes fast, as his legs move on the bed, as he takes hold of my hand and doesn't seem like he'll ever let go.

I lick his dick, lick him till he's close to coming, then I stop; clamp down on it, squeeze his balls, starve off his orgasm. He's sweating, saying my name, and there's a string of _please_ and_ fuck me _that I've been waiting to hear.

I get him up on his knees, push into him in one fluid motion.

He falls forward, leans his head against the pillow and rocks back into me, my balls brushing against his arse.

I want us to come together. He's close and I move faster inside him to get myself there too, and then it's like we both erupt, like it overwhelms us both, the violence of it, the way we hold onto each other until we've come down.

He lies against my side. I stroke his arm, stroke and stroke it until I feel his cock getting hard again.

::::::

**2017**

_Ste_

I've done something. I don't know what I've done, but something's wrong. Something's happened.

I wake up and Brendan's not there. The bed's empty, his side cold.

The house is empty too. He hasn't left me a message. I know he doesn't have to be in work until tonight. We don't need anything from the shops.

I try to think. Maybe he's gone into town to have a look around, or maybe Mitzeee's over from America again and they've met up. But he'd tell me; he always tells me, because he knows I don't like it when I wake up and he's not there, when I don't know where he's gone.

I start imagining all sorts. Someone's broken into the flat in the night and kidnapped him. The police have come and taken him away. He's freaked out for some reason, run away.

None of it makes sense. Forever, he said. He said this was _forever_. He said he'd rather die than leave me again.

I try his phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message.

_Bren, it's me. I woke up and you weren't there. I've got to get to work in a bit, but just let me know that you're alright, yeah?_

At work I can't concentrate. I drop some of the trays, make everyone in the whole restaurant look at me. Tony brings me into his office.

"What's Brendan done?" That's the first thing he says to me. Not _are you okay?_ or _what's happened?_

"What? He hasn't done anything."

"Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, did you?"

"No. I just... He wasn't there when I woke up. He'd just gone."

"Maybe he's at work."

"He's not in till later."

"Maybe he decided to go in early, do some paperwork."

"He didn't say anything." I try and think if there's something I've forgotten, but he definitely didn't mention it.

"Do you two tell each other everything?"

_Yes,_ I think. _Yes, we do, and something doesn't feel right._

"Look, I'm sorry. What happened out there, it won't happen again."

He touches my shoulder, let's me go.

It's not till I get home that I finally hear from him. He's already in the flat when I get there. He's sat at the table in the dark, a glass in front of him, a bottle of whiskey next to it.

"What are you sitting in the dark for?" I turn on the light and he blinks, looks annoyed with me like he wishes I'd walk straight out. "Aren't you meant to be at work?"

"I'm not going."

"Why not?" He needs that job. It took him ages to prove to anyone that they could trust him, that he wasn't some psycho.

He just shrugs, lifting the glass to his mouth and downing it in one.

It scares me when he drinks. I don't mean always - there's a difference to when he's having a few pints, or having some champagne if we're celebrating something. It's alright then, because he'll be in a good mood and he knows when to stop. Even if he gets drunk, it's a _happy_ kind of drunk.

But when he's like this, all sort of dark and distant from me, it makes me not know whether to go near him. The last time I saw him like this was more than two years ago, and he wasn't himself then. He wasn't _my_ Brendan.

I sit down next to him carefully. He pours another glass.

"Have I done something?"

I've made it worse, saying that. I don't know why but I have. He looks more sad than angry now.

"No."

"What's happened then?" I try and touch him but he leans right back, as far away as it's possible to go without him falling.

"Leave it."

"Was it someone at work? Did someone do something?" He was on edge yesterday when he got home too, but he'd just said he was tired. I hadn't wanted to make it into anything. I know that some customers have made comments though. They must have remembered him being on the news years ago, or read about him in the papers. "I swear, if anyone's said something then I'll go there myself and -"

"No one's said anything."

"What is it then?"

"I said _leave_ it." He's almost shouting now. He pushes his chair back, the sound of it filling the room, and he takes the bottle of whiskey with him as he goes to our bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him. I hear the sound of the lock.

Silence.

I don't know what to do with myself. I think about following him, but I know he needs time to cool off. I could go out but I don't want to leave him alone. I start doing the pile of dishes in the sink, keep wanting him to come out of the room, keep thinking about what happens if he does.

I need to phone someone, speak to someone. I can't call Amy. She'll hear it in my voice, hear that something's happened, and she'll start blaming Brendan. I dial Cheryl's number, wait for her to answer, but when someone picks up it's Nate.

"How are you, Ste?" He sounds surprised that I've called. It's usually Brendan that speaks to Cheryl these days, not me.

"Good thanks." I wonder if he's believing my lies. "Is Cheryl there?"

"She's just gone out for a walk. It's a difficult day. For you too, I'm sure."

"What?"

There's a pause, and I think it's hitting him that I have no idea what he's talking about.

"It's the anniversary of when Seamus died."

_When Seamus died._ Not _when Seamus was murdered by my wife and she let your husband rot in jail for it._ Not that.

"Right. Thanks, Nate. I've got to..." I put the phone down.

I walk to the bedroom, stand outside for a moment. I can't hear anything from inside. I get this image of him climbing out of the window like in the old days.

"Brendan?"

Nothing. No reply.

"Bren? It's me."

I don't know why I say that. Who else would it be?

"Can I come in? I spoke to Nate. He told me about... I'm sorry. I didn't know." I didn't know because I didn't want to know. I didn't want to remember this date, to remember when my our lives changed. "Bren."

He doesn't let me in, but I think he's still in there. I don't think he's run away.

I slide down onto the carpet, carry on talking to him. Tell him that I love him. I don't stop until he opens the door, and then I put my arms around him and I don't let go until I know I've brought him back to me.

::::::

_Brendan_

"Where's that gorgeous husband of yours?"

Anne's scanning the club, dancing slightly to the beat of the music.

"Went to take a piss."

"I think his language is rubbing off on you, Brendan."

"Rubbing off on me. There's a joke in there somewhere."

"Ha. Funny."

Steven comes back a second later. He hugs her like he's seeing an old friend - I guess he is - and they start catching up even though it's only been a week since they last saw each other. I'm keeping an eye on things, making sure that everyone behind the bar's doing their jobs properly, but I've got my ear to the ground, hear every time Steven mentions me: _he's always leaving his pants on the floor_, or _he burns everything but bacon_, or _Brendan brought Leah this amazing present for her last birthday_, and I'm glad it's not just me who's incapable of not bringing him into every conversation.

They go off and have a dance after a while.

"Want to come?"

"Got work to do, haven't I?" That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

They go to the centre of the dance floor. Anne's good; she's got all the moves, has all the guys looking at her in the bright red dress that clings to her every curve. Since having Phoenix it's like she's become even more relaxed. She moves without a hint of self consciousness. She knows she's got it all.

Steven just doesn't give a fuck.

He's the boy I met five years ago, all flailing arms and two left feet. He's uncoordinated, shaking his hips like he's having some kind of fit, tongue visible from between his lips, white teeth showing when he laughs, that booming donkey laugh that's still the sexiest thing I've ever heard.

He's had a few drinks, let his hair down, and he's holding Anne's hand now and is twirling her around the dance floor. I can see the ring on his finger; the fluorescent lights bounce off it, a rainbow of colours.

He whispers something in her ear and then goes over to the bar. He must be ordering drinks; I see him shouting above the music, straining to be heard, and then the next thing I see is someone's hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

There's this guy. He looks around Steven's age, maybe a bit older. Dark hair, dark skin, tall, attractive if you're into muscles.

He leans in close, says something. His hand's still on Steven's shoulder. I walk closer, advance.

I watch as Steven shakes his head. The guy's smiling, but Steven's not. I think about stepping in, but he looks okay; calm, like he's controlling this.

The guy says something else, seems to be trying to win him around.

Steven shakes his head again, says something back, then turns around so that he's blocking out the guy. He pays for his drinks, balances them in his hand and then brings Anne hers.

He swigs some of his, then comes over to join me while Anne carries on dancing.

"Do you want a drink? I thought of getting you one, but I didn't know if you'd be allowed."

"Can't drink while I'm working."

"We need to come here when you've got a night off. Have a drink, have a dance." To prove his point he does it, he _has a dance. _

"Busman's holiday?"

"What?"

"Busman's holiday," I say again. "It's when -"

"When you try and have fun when you're not working, but you do it in the place you work. I know. You told me."

I don't know how the hell he remembers, seeing as how it was five years ago and he was bladdered at the time.

"Who was that guy?"

"Who? He looks at me blankly.

"That guy at the bar."

"You spying on me?" He raises his bottle, puts it to his lips and stares at me.

"I'm _looking_. Free country, Steven."

"He's no one."

"No one? So he ceases to exist?"

"What? What you going on about? I mean he's _no one_, Brendan. He's just some random bloke."

"What did he want then?" I straighten my collar, smooth down the front of my suit. "Wanted to give you a goldfish like that other fella?"

I think he's regretting telling me about that George kid.

"Shut up. He just wanted to buy me a drink. Wanted my number too. I must be looking even better than I thought." He flashes his teeth at me, sort of puffs out his chest.

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Are you saying I don't look fit?" He's leaning close to me. He's wearing these tight jeans. Very, very tight.

"You look better than everyone in this place, Steven. That's not the point."

He smiles, appeased, then grabs my face, kisses me, uses his tongue. It's my _workplace_. Fuck. I don't pull away though. I taste the beer on his lips.

"He's no one," he says again when he takes his mouth off mine. "I told him where to stick it anyway. Not interested, am I?"

"No?"

"No." He looks at me for a long time then, like he needs me to believe it.

"Okay." Okay. I believe him.

"Want that dance then?"

"Keep Anne company. I've got to cover a break."

Steven goes back and joins Anne. I go behind the bar, pour drinks and look over at them whenever I have a spare moment. They're talking as they dance, and laughing.

It's not just them I'm looking at; I track the guy who asked for Steven's number. Looks like he's already moved, started chatting up someone else. Strange. Can't say I'm not relieved, but if it was me - when it _was_ me - I wouldn't have given up on Steven so easily.

It's a few hours till I finish up. I give Anne a lift home to her sister's place - I try not to look around, try not to be in the village for any longer than I have to - and then I drive me and Steven back to the flat.

He's in the back of the car, laughing at nothing, apparently.

I open the door for him when we reach home. He gives me these puppy dog eyes.

"I don't think I can walk. I feel a bit sick."

"Who's fault is that?"

His bottom lip juts out.

I sigh, lift him in my arms. He's asleep by the time we reach the bed.

::::::

_Ste_

He's grumbling and pulling away. He looks like he's already plotting his own back.

It's just a joke. A bit of a laugh.

We've been out shopping and I sort of ended up dragging him into this shop. One of those, you know, _sex_ shops.

He's turned red. He's standing far back near the entrance, looking at the floor.

"Steven. Steven, come on."

"Give us a sec. Come on, come and see." I think I mainly say it to torture him.

He stays rooted to the spot while I look inside. I've never been to one of these places before. The closest I've come is the aisles of Boots when we used to use condoms. I've looked at places like this, but it's always been online. I've never actually gone in. I've always thought it's kind of girly.

I look to see if anyone's staring at me, thinking I'm some massive perv. The shop's busier than I thought it would be. There are some girls all looking at stuff together, and a few couples. No one's looking at me though. Maybe they just think it's normal. Probably they think I'm just getting something for my girlfriend.

I pass the underwear. There's all this lace, all these thongs which don't interest me. It _is_ girly, this section, pink with thin material that would probably snap if Brendan ever tried to wear it.

It gets better though. There's other stuff too: toys. Dildos. Butt plugs. Some of them are _enormous_, but then it's not all that different to what Brendan's got. It's weird though, seeing it like this. It's different when we're in bed, when he's worked me up with his hands and mouth, when I'm desperate for him to fuck me. Maybe it had hurt the first time, and I was nervous back then, but I can't really remember what that feels like now.

"Brendan." I call him loudly, drawing attention to him, so he has no choice but to either run away or join me.

He surprises me by stepping into the shop properly, coming over to me.

"What the fuck are we doing in here?"

"Just having a browse."

"A _browse_?"

"Yeah." I pick up a dildo. "Could be good for all the long nights at the club."

He yanks it out of my hands. "Wouldn't you rather the real thing?" He kisses me, dips me a little so I'm closer to the floor than the ceiling.

"Haven't you ever tried any of these?"

"No."

"Come on."

"I'm serious."

"You? I thought you'd be well adventurous back in the day."

"_Back in the day_? I'm not going on ninety, Steven. And I don't need to shove a bit of plastic up my arse to be adventurous."

"But never?"

"Doesn't really get me off," he says, staring at the dildo.

"Really?" I think of all the times when he's come with my fingers inside him, or my tongue. Maybe he's thinking the same, because he smiles at me.

"_You_ get me off," he says, like he's correcting himself, voice low. "I've just never really needed to. Not with one of these."

_Because I've always had someone. _That's what's unsaid. He's always had a bloke, probably since way back, so he's never felt the need to get one of these toys.

I turn away. I'm trying not to ask the obvious: how many, and what their names are, and whether there's any chance of them worming their way back in, coming to find him like some of the others did once.

But I don't, because he's here with me, and I know I'm being stupid. I have my past, and he has his.

He puts his hands on my shoulders from behind, gives them a bit of a rub like he's massaging me.

"You really going to get one?"

"No. Just wanted to look."

This couple passes us then. It's two blokes and they're holding hands. I think Brendan's going to get weird with the way they look at us, kind of like this knowing look, like we're the same or something, but he doesn't. He relaxes.

"Maybe I'll get you something for your birthday," he says, and I don't know if he's being serious or not, but he slaps me on the bum and we walk out of the shop. "What would you want, Steven?"

Fuck. He _is_ being serious.

"What?"

"Well, you're right. I work long hours. Might be quite good, coming home and seeing you all stretched out." He's staring at my arse. He's not even being subtle about it.

I shrug, try and think clearly because my head feels a bit fuzzy. I never thought we'd be having _this_ conversation.

"One of those vibrators looked alright," I say slowly.

"Oh yeah?" He dodges to avoid walking into a group of people. You'd think we were talking about something casual, like where to go for lunch.

"One of those ones that you put inside you. With the remote. That looks okay."

He makes this _hmm_ sound, almost the same as the buzz that the vibrator would make.

"Anything else?"

Maybe there was some booze in the juice I had, because I don't feel shy when I say, "Maybe some of those handcuffs. Did you see those? The plain black ones? They were on the table."

"Don't you think I've been cuffed enough already, Steven?" He manages to keep his voice light.

"I meant for me." I swallow around the words, can feel him looking at me. "I wouldn't mind if you...like...did that. To me."

I keep on expecting people to be looking our way, but they don't seem to have heard anything.

"Really?"

I look over at him; there's a tightness in his trousers. I'm not imagining it. He gives me this look, this warning not to push it. We're in daylight.

"Yeah. If you wanted to."

"What do you want?"

We cross the road. He has to stop me because I nearly step in front of traffic without looking first.

"I'd like that too," I mumble. Our hands brush against each other as we walk.

"Okay then." I can see him mentally making a note of it, filing it under a list in his mind: _Steven's presents. _

::::::

_Brendan_

Lucas gives me a kiss goodbye. I give Leah a hug, stroke her hair.

We wave them goodbye, do the usual routine of waiting until Amy's checked that I haven't beaten up her best friend. It's like a tradition now, a twisted one, and we all know the score even though she's never admitted to it.

We go back into the flat, into the kitchen where Steven's been testing new recipes.

"Tony likes this one, but I'm not sure." He offers me a spoon and I open my mouth wide for him, wait while he feeds me.

I lick the sauce off my lips with my tongue, mull it over.

"It's fantastic."

"You've said that about all of them."

"That's because it's true."

"You're just trying to make me feel good. I need to know if they're shit or not."

"I'd tell you, okay?" Maybe I wouldn't word it like he would, as _shit_, but I'd tell him somehow. "Trust me, yeah? No one cooks like you. You're wasted at that place."

"Don't say that. Tony's been good to me."

"I know." I'll alway be in his debt, how he payed for Steven's treatment while I was away, how he looked out for him. "But you carry that place. He'd run it into the ground without you."

"No." He looks at me with wide eyes like I've said something crazy. "There are loads of chefs. If he didn't have me he'd just have someone else."

"Wouldn't be as good though." I take the spoon from him, pile more of what he's made onto it. It's chicken with some sauce, and from what he said it didn't take him long to make, but I mean every word - it's brilliant.

"I have thought a bit about starting my own business again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not the same as before. Not a deli, because...well, even before everything with Doug it was going wrong. Weren't exactly making a profit, were we?"

"No offense, but you were charging about six quid for a panini."

He gives me this scandalised look. "That's standard these days, that is."

"You charged me four quid for a jam sandwich too."

"You stole them most of the time anyway."

"What's your point?"

He shakes his head at me.

"I just don't know how I'm going to get the money together."

"Get a loan."

"With my record? They're just going to find out about my mum. Doesn't exactly look good, does it?"

"You did nothing wrong." He goes to protest, but I interrupt. "You did nothing wrong. She asked you for help. She was in pain, wasn't she?"

Steven nods. We've been through this, but I'll say it again as many times as I have to.

"You helped her. She asked you, and you helped."

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"I'll give you the money if you want."

"No."

"Just some to get it moving forward, and then -"

"No, Brendan. I'll do it on my own."

He's so fucking stubborn.

"Stop that," he says, and he snatches the spoon from me. "I have to save some for other people to try."

"Wait, this isn't my dinner? I feel so misled."

"I've made you something else. It's nothing fancy, just a bacon butty."

"That's why I married you."

He looks pleased with himself, like he's passed some test.

"Try some of this one now." He puts a fresh spoon into the pot next to the first one. It's pasta with cheese sauce and pancetta. My mouth waters before any even touches my lips. It smells incredible.

He waits, watching my reaction.

"That's the one, isn't it?" He says. "I can tell."

"The best so far."

He picks up his notebook that's lying on the side, scribbles on it.

"I'll let Tony know. I knew that was the best one."

I help him clean up. He puts all the food away into plastic containers and waits for them to cool on the countertop. I wash, he dries, and we've got the radio on in the background. I've let him have his station, and Britney's blaring out. He's lucky I love him.

It's one of those lazy evenings, the kind where we watch a film, where he sits on my face after the credits roll, when I've got my tongue up his tight little hole and I'm exploring, holding his shaking legs steady.

He's twitching, panting, has his hands tightly fisted in my hair.

"Bedroom," he says, but I don't let him get that far. I spread him on the sofa, get his cock rigid with my mouth, make him come, swallow and get inside him. He's warm and it's like he's pulling me closer with everything he's got. He's tiny when he's naked and he's tiny when he's clothed, and sometimes it makes me scared, lying full length on top of him with my weight pressing down on him. If it wasn't for the ferocity of him - the way he demands to be fucked harder, and the way he grabs handfuls of my arse - then I'd think he could break. But I know him, see. I know him better than I know myself, and what he wants is a challenge; he wants his limits tested, wants me to make his body ache, wants me to lift his arms above his head as I move inside him. He wants to be loved, but he wants it this way.

He's hard again by the time I come inside him. I crawl down his body, get his dick between my lips and take him all the way down to the root, make him writhe and buck and twist. He looks a fucking mess. He look like nothing I've ever seen before; wrecked, beautiful.

The cushions are scattered around the sofa by the time we've finished.

"I could sleep here." He closes his eyes, looks like he's settling in for the night.

"Your back will ache in the morning."

"It already does," he says, giving me a close lipped smile, eyes bright. I pull him up by the hand, my arm around him as we go to bed.

We're shattered, both of us; he leans against me so that his back's facing my stomach, and when I hear his breathing evening out and know he's asleep, I close my eyes and follow him.

::::::

**2018**

_Ste_

I've got some flowers. I don't know if they're good enough, but Brendan tells me they are, and we go to the grave together.

It's raining and we're both huddling under an umbrella. Raindrops are dripping off his moustache, scattered around his beard. There are flecks of grey in it.

"You can have the umbrella if you want." Brendan offers it to me, because he knows that I want to do this part alone.

"I don't want you getting all wet. I've got my hood anyway."

"You'll get soaked."

He takes the umbrella from me when I insist, and then I start walking, the flowers in one hand, my other hand holding the hood up to make sure it doesn't blow down in the wind.

I haven't been here a lot. Once or twice with Leela and Tegan. We didn't bring Peri. We didn't want her to have to come here, didn't want her to have to see it all again after the funeral. Maybe when she's older, if she wants to.

How many people have I buried? How many people have died around me, people who never deserved to die?

I place the flowers on the grave, arrange them so they're neat. They look like they'll get flattened with the rain, but it looks better than before, like this isn't the first time I've come here in months.

"Hi dad," I say, like I say every time I come here, like I think he can hear me. The words don't sound right: _dad_, when I'm still not sure who he was to me, who I was to him. I think about the fact that we had a massive row before he died. That we never had the chance to make up. I think how easy it was for him to leave me, to want to move away and never see me again, and all those years when he stayed away and didn't try to contact me.

I run back to Brendan, shelter under the umbrella. He holds it over me, makes it so I'm more covered than he is.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." I shiver a bit. "Thanks for coming with me. Just thought it was time, you know? Time to see him again. I mean not _see_ him, because he's not..."

"I know what you mean."

I haven't told Brendan much about Danny. He knows that he went out with John Paul for a bit, and that he was decent, better than Terry, that he took me in when I needed a place to live, and he tried to get me off cocaine. But that's all I've told him; I don't really have any stories, any memories that I'll take with me as the years since he died get longer and longer.

He was my dad for a year, and then he was gone.

"What do you want to do now?" We're back in the car, just sitting there as the rain gets more fierce. I can hear the wind from outside. I know he'll take me wherever I want to go, do whatever I want to do.

"Maybe we could get a drink."

He's looking at me like he's worried.

"I'm not going to get smashed, don't worry. I'm okay." I mean it. I'm going to be okay. Doing this, seeing Danny's grave, it's not going to send me off the deep end, or whatever it is Brendan thinks. I've got him, so I'll survive.

"Let's drive then." He starts the car and we don't stop until he finds a pub. It's one we haven't been in before, and it's quiet this time of day. We get a table in the corner and he orders the drinks, a beer for me and a Guinness for him. I have some of the foam when he offers, then wrinkle my nose at the rest.

Sitting here, it's private. No one's looking our way, no one's at a table near us. There are a few people playing pool and someone sitting at the bar, but that's it.

"Your feet are touching mine," I say, and I see by his smile that it's deliberate. I give him a light kick, then run my leg up his.

I don't expect it when he kisses me. I almost pull away I'm so surprised, but then I put my hand on his face, kiss him back. I don't know why I'm not used to this, this _public_ thing, but I think the memories of how things used to be will always be in my head; how he used to flinch if I touched him for a second, or how he was always looking around to see if people were staring at us. He's doing none of that now. He must know that they'll be the odd idiot who'll say something occasionally, but it's like he's learnt now that most people don't give a fuck.

It's not just a little kiss either. It's not just a peck like you'd give to a relative, or one like before we say goodnight and we're both sleepy, when it's short and we're kind of lazy with our tongues. We're not even kissing with tongues, not now, but we kiss for a long time, getting the warmth back into our skin after being out in the rain.

I love him. I must have said it out loud because he says it back,_ I love you too_, and then he strokes across my mouth.

"You're all red."

"It's that beard, isn't it?"

"I can shave it if you want."

"No. I like it. It's all soft, isn't it? Just trim it a bit when it gets bushy. That's all you should trim, mind." I look down at him.

"Jesus, any more requests?"

"I'll make a list, get back to you."

"Right. Want some food, Steven? They do fish and chips."

"Yeah, go on then. Be better if we were by the sea though, wouldn't it? I've never had that before."

"What?"

"Fish and chips by the sea. Least not that I can remember."

"Seriously? We'll have to do something about that." He looks like he's already planning it in his head. We haven't been away together since Dublin. It makes me excited, thinking about a holiday.

"What about your...what do you call them? Release conditions."

"That won't last forever. And it's not everywhere. They just don't want me hopping on a plane, starting a new life in Australia or something."

"I don't want that either. All those tight suits, you'd sweat right through them in the heat. You'd have to walk around half naked." I pause. "Actually scrap that, let's move."

"You're a comedian, Steven."

"Who says I'm joking?" My mind's wandered now; he's a bit too overdressed today for my liking, wearing one of his more loose fitting suits for work later. There's this grey one he's got where I can practically see his dick through it.

"You're thinking something filthy, aren't you?"

"What? Why do you say that?"

"Your cheeks have gone red." He leans in closer, lowers his voice. "What are you thinking about then?"

So I tell him.

::::::

_Brendan_

"Brendan, stop looking out of the curtains. The neighbours are going to think we're well weird."

When I don't move Steven comes towards me, gets the curtains out of my grip so the window's covered.

"What's his name again?"

"Ben."

"Ben." I sound it out, consider it. "I don't like that name."

"What's wrong with Ben?"

"I don't trust it."

Steven shoots me a look as he starts pouring cereal out for both of us. He hands me the bigger bowl and we sit at the table, the weekend papers out for me, his phone by his side.

"Anyway, I thought the whole point of the kids coming over for the weekend was for us to see them?"

"Yeah, it is. But we had yesterday with them, and it's not just about what we want, is it? It was hard for them to change schools when they moved back with Amy. They miss their friends."

"_Ben's_ one of these friends, is he?"

"Yes. He's only eleven, Bren. He's just a kid. You can't hate him."

"I don't hate him. I just..."

"You're just being protective. _Over _protective, and there's no need. What are you going to be like when Leah grows up and gets a proper boyfriend?"

"When she's fifty you mean? I don't know, but I probably won't be around to see it, so."

"Stop being daft. You know what teenage girls are like."

"No I don't. I know what teenage boys are like though." That's the problem.

"They aren't all like that."

"Oh yeah? So you weren't like that?"

I know he was. Even if he didn't give me a bashful look that tells me so, I'd know. Bet he knew how to charm all the girls, knew how to say all the right things. He got Amy Barnes knocked up. He can't tell me he wasn't that kind of guy.

"We'll be there to look out for her though, won't we? Amy too, and Lee. She's got all of us. Plus she's smart, isn't she?"

"Smartest girl I know."

"So she's not just going to go out with any idiot."

"And if she does I'll kill him. Not literally," I add after Steven stares at me, looks alarmed. I don't think he hears when I mutter _not if he behaves himself._

"We shouldn't even be talking about this." I watch as Steven goes on his phone. He's got one of those accounts now, an Instagram. He's shown me; he's got all pictures of us up - including one of me asleep on the sofa taken a few day's ago, uploaded without my permission - and there's others of me and the kids, and a few _selfies_. Christ.

"Here, look at this," he says, showing me. It's one of us from last Christmas. Anne had taken it. We're in front of the tree and the main lights are off, so it's just the lights from the tree that are stopping us from being in darkness. The flash was on so you can see our faces. She'd caught us unawares, continued taking photos even when we thought she'd stopped. I remember the first few she'd taken; I'd been tense, uncomfortable in front of the camera. But in this one I'm smiling - laughing, even - at something Steven had said. He's grinning away, his shoulder touching mine.

"I found it the other day. Nice, isn't it? Although my jumper's awful." Lee had got him one as an early present. It's one of those Christmas ones with snowflakes and a big fluffy Santa on the front.

"Better than the kind you used to wear with Douglas."

"They weren't that bad." He screws up his face like he's remembering.

"The tracksuits are better." I look down at the paper, start to read it but he's nattering on in that way of his.

"Like your _mature_ council rats, don't you?"

"I like you."

"Just me?"

"Just you," I say, and I spoon some sugar into my coffee, stop after the first one because he doesn't want to be going out with a tubby, does he?

"What do you want to do today then? We could take our Lucas out. He'll love that."

Lucas must have heard Steven say he's name. He comes through from the other room, carrying Lego in his hands.

"When's Leah coming back?" They're a pair, those two. He's already missing her.

"Later this afternoon. She's just out with her mate and his mum." I see Steven eyeing me warily, probably waiting for me to start again. I don't though. I know he's right, Ben's just a kid. It's just weird sometimes, seeing Leah getting older, knowing what she's got to come.

It's not just her, it's Lucas too. I start to think about the lads I went to school with, and the ones who were messed around by girls there, left humiliated by their teasing.

Shit. I need to stop this, stop these thoughts.

"What do you want to do today, Lucas?" Steven is asking him, letting his son steal some Cheerios from his bowl. "We could go to the park if you like. The weather looks good today. Or we could go shopping, get you some new clothes?"

"The park," he says, and he starts jumping up and down, seems to have an endless amount of energy even when it's still early in the morning and I could easily go back to sleep.

I almost tell Steven I want to, but I'm persuaded to go with them - _you'll get your reward later,_ followed by a squeeze of my arse - and it's good anyway, spending time with Lucas, seeing his excitement as he runs out of the flat before we have to call him back, get him to slow down. Steven's right, the weather's good, and we carry our jackets. I spend so much of my life in a suit that it's good to be like this: jeans, a plain black T-shirt, my cross tucked underneath. Lucas walks in the middle, me and Steven either side like it's the most casual thing in the Lucas it is; it's all he's ever known, seeing Steven like this, whether it's been with me or someone else. I used to wait for questions from him and Leah, and whenever they saw me kissing their dad I'd spring apart, keep my distance. The questions never came though. This is just life to them, like it's become life to me.

::::::

_Ste_

"Steven. _Steven_."

I can hear a voice calling me, _his_ voice, but it sounds far away. I can't get to it. It can't reach me.

He's on the balcony. I'm looking up at him, and I'm being held back by Darren and the police as I try and get through. I need to stop him, need to make him be safe. He's got a gun and he fires, and then there's another sound, another gunshot, and he's down. There's someone screaming, someone howling, someone saying _no, no, no_ again and again, and it takes me a moment to realise that it's me.

All I want to do is be with him. The police are surrounding him and he's being led away in an ambulance. I try and climb in but they've locked the doors before I can make it, and it's up to me to make my own way to the hospital. I can't stop crying, or shaking, or thinking _not him. Anyone but him. Don't let it be him who dies. Take me instead. _

"_Steven."_

I open my eyes. I'm lying in bed and Brendan's on top of me, his hands on my shoulders. The sun's streaking through the curtains and I can see the lines of worry around his face. He's open mouthed, doesn't take his hands off me even while I'm gasping and sitting up.

"Sorry. I just... sorry."

"You don't need to apologise."

I think he knows what just happened; it's the way he looks away, is quiet, doesn't ask me what the fuck's going on. I think he knows.

It takes me a moment to notice that my side of the bed's soaked. I think it's my sweat at first, and when I realise I scramble upwards, running to the bathroom. I lock the door, sit on the closed toilet seat.

I hear a knock, a pounding from outside.

"Steven, open up."

"Go away."

"Open the door."

He carries on knocking. I keep my head in my hands, take deep breaths to try and steady myself, but it's not working.

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"I fucking _wet_ myself, Brendan."

He just says it again,_ open up_, and when I don't there's silence. I think he's gone away, but then I hear the sound of him clearing his throat. He's still there, staying by the door.

I can't stay in this bathroom forever. I've got work in an hour. I've got to clean myself up, put the sheets for the wash, phone the kids.

I slowly walk to the door, hope that Brendan will be gone by the time I open it. But he's not, he's sitting on the floor. His head's leaning against the door; he nearly falls through to the bathroom when I open it. He scrambles to his feet, looks at me straight like he meant what he said before, that I've got nothing to be ashamed of.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

He takes control. He runs the shower, waits till the water's warm and then he strips off my clothes, lifts my vest off over my head, guides me under the shower head and closes the door. He must put the dirty sheets in the wash, because by the time I come out of the shower they're gone, my pyjamas too.

I wrap myself in a towel and sit on the bed. He comes in, closes the door and hands me a cup of tea.

"Thanks." I sip at it slowly. I know we're going to have to talk about this, even though it's the last thing I want to do. "I haven't done that in years." He's going to think I'm a baby, _pathetic_.

"I know," he says, and I look at him.

"What do you mean, you know?"

He looks caught out, like he's said something he shouldn't.

"No, I just mean..."

"Brendan?"

He gives this kind of defeated sigh like he knows I won't just get off his case about it.

"Amy told me that after I... that you used to have nightmares. After I..." He stops, then says the word like it's acid in his throat. "Left."

"Amy told you?" I stand up, and as I do it the towel starts to drop from around me. Brendan comes towards me, wraps me up in it again, ties it securely around my waist even though I'm straining to get him away, trying to focus on what he's just told me. "Amy? My Amy? Having a little chat about me, were you?"

I feel ganged up on. When did they do this? I imagine them sitting down, all cosy, talking about me like I'm their _problem_.

"It wasn't a _chat_, Steven. She was being...well, she was being Amy, having a go at me."

"When was this?"

"Soon after I came back, when she found out about us being back together."

I try and think of a moment when they were left alone together. There were one or two times after Brendan had returned; I know it won't have taken a lot for Amy to get straight to the point, to start accusing him of messing with my head.

"What did she say?"

"She was trying to warn me off. Talked about your...the things you were dreaming of."

I don't think he wants to say _nightmares_. He's shifty, is looking anywhere but at me. It agitates him, talking about my life when he was away.

"Said that I wet the bed, did she?" I feel humiliated.

"She mentioned it, yeah."

"Bet you had a right laugh, didn't you? Stupid Ste, acting like a kid. Worse than a kid, because they can't help it, they're only little, and I...I'm meant to be a fucking _grown up_. I'm meant to be better than this."

"Says who?"

"What?"

"Says who, Steven? Who says you're meant to be better than this?"

"I do."

"Well I don't. Do you think I should have been better in prison?" He's all fired up, standing closer to me now, his eyes red, spit gathered around his mouth.

"What are you talking about?"

"My first night there."

He doesn't need to say any more.

"You..." I trail off. Any anger I felt is gone.

"Yeah."

I'm quiet then. We're staring at each other, and I wonder if he dreamed what I dreamed too. If he still does.

"When I was younger too, with my dad. After what..." He's closing his eyes now, and I can see him remembering.

I step forward, take him by surprise when I put my arms around him. He clings onto me, puts his hands against my bare back, strokes my skin. We stand there, don't say anything, just hold each other up.

Sometimes I think we're the only two people in the world who understand.

::::::

_Brendan_

He masturbates when he thinks I'm not looking. Usually it's early in the morning when I'm asleep; I'll wake up and see the cover shifting, and then when I turn over he's jerking off, hand moving relentlessly, eyes closed, frowning like he's concentrating before cum spatters onto his belly, over his hands.

Today it's not the morning, and it's not a secret: he puts on a show.

He knows I've got work to do. I've managed to finish early from the club and come home to him, but the catch is that I've brought a mountain of paperwork with me. I'm sitting at the table going through it all. He's having some dinner, twirling spaghetti around on his fork.

"It's like that movie." He thinks for a second, spaghetti sauce on his chin. "That Disney one. What's it called? The dogs eating the spaghetti?"

"Lady and the Tramp."

He looks at me, surprised.

"Declan loved it."

He looks suspicious but let's it pass.

"It's like that, isn't it?"

"Not when you've only got spaghetti and meatballs for one," I tell him, and he shoots me an irritated look. I'm ruining his fantasy.

"Come on." He shifts closer. takes a big bite of a meatball. "Share with me."

"Steven, I've got a ton of work to do here."

He tuts, looks put out. I distinctively hear him mutter _don't expect me to blow you tonight then_. I know he's joking, but the threat alone makes me give in.

"Give it here then."

He smiles - _beams_ - and runs to get another fork from the draw. I take it from him, get a bit of everything on it; spaghetti, sauce, a cut up meatball, the works.

"You're doing it all wrong. We've got to share the same bit of spaghetti, otherwise we're just eating separately." He says it like it's obvious, and then he finds a large strand, gets one end in his mouth and offers me the other, says "see" with his mouth full.

I relent. I get the other strand in my mouth and we suck on it until our mouths meet at the middle. He's satisfied, lets out a little sound of triumph and wants to do it again.

I relent, let him do it another two or three times. On the last try I stop him from getting away; kiss him, long and deep, and he forgets about the game after that.

He finishes he bowl and then looks restless again.

"Brendan?"

I give a non-committal hum, eyes on the work in front of me.

"I'm feeling a bit...you know..."

"What?" I don't look up.

"You know..."

"I'm not a mind reader, Steven."

"_You_ _know_."

Something about the way he says it makes me give him my full attention. I chew on the end of my pen, watch as he squirms in his seat.

"Horny." Not a question, because it's plain as day that he is; he's got that look about him that I'm used to seeing behind closed doors.

"Yeah." He watches me chewing on the pen. "Will you suck me off?"

I could say yes. I want to. I push the table back a little, look down at his jeans. He's stiff.

I don't. I don't make a move to touch him.

"No."

He's frustrated, looking at me like he wonders how he can win me round, head tilted to the side.

"Please."

"No."

He reaches for my hand, tries to bring it to his crotch, but I hold him still and pull away, write something on the paper in front of me. I think it's my name, or maybe it's the date; nothing important, because I don't trust myself to think clearly.

"Brendan."

"What?" I pretend that my mind's elsewhere.

"Please."

"I'm working." I feel faintly bad for teasing him, but it's _fun_ seeing him getting wound up like this. I bet his skin would be hot if I touched it now, a veneer of sweat across his collar bone. "What's wrong with you boy, hmm? You been watching porn again?"

He's shooting me daggers. I almost laugh, but I control myself, know that I'll be rewarded if I do, and I'm right; he stomps through to the living room, throws himself onto the sofa. He puts the television on in the background, but he can only concentrate on it for a few minutes before he starts getting antsy. I can see him from the position I'm in, and every time my eyes aren't on my work they're on him, waiting.

He knows I'm watching him. He frowns and huffs - he even lifts his middle finger up at me and I laugh then, can't help it, but then I get my poker face back on.

His hand strays downwards, and then I know I won't be able to get any work done any more. I push the papers in front of me away, keep chewing on my pen, don't take my eyes off his hand.

He unbuckles his jeans, unzips them and wriggles so that they end up bundled around his ankles. His cock's standing hard against his stomach. It's perfect.

His legs are stretched, propped up on the table. He spits onto his hand, starts stroking. He's leaning back against the sofa. He starts out with his eyes open, darting towards me and away again, but when he really gets going they drift until they're closed, and it's like he forgets that I'm watching him. He gives himself in to it.

I wish he'd take his clothes off. I want to see if his stomach's heaving, see if his chest's turned pink. I could walk over to him and do it for him, but that might make him stop, and I can't let that happen. It's the movement of his hand that I'm interested in anyway; the way his speed's increasing, the way he's growing more desperate, the way he's moaning softly now.

I overestimate my ability to leave him alone. I've stood up without even meaning to. I walk over to him, my dick straining in my trousers. I try not to make a noise, but he must hear me because his eyes flutter open. I think he's going to spread his legs for me, let me come inside him, and I start taking off my trousers.

He shakes his head. It's his turn for revenge.

He finishes himself off with his hand, ignores me and zones in on his own pleasure. When he's done he wipes himself clean, looks mighty pleased with himself, continuing to pretend that he doesn't notice me standing in front of him, turning his attention to the television.

He hasn't put his pants back on though.

I go to the bedroom, grab the lube. He doesn't make a sound when I return and take my clothes off, or when I'm spreading lube onto my cock. He doesn't make a sound when I sit on the sofa beside him. He doesn't make a sound when he climbs on top of me and lifts himself up enough for my fingers to go into him. He doesn't make a sound when I finger him open, or when my cock enters him an inch or two, letting him adjust before I thrust up into him. He doesn't make a sound when he rides me, not until he leans in to kiss me and I hear his groans in my mouth, or when I come inside him and gasps from it.

He rolls off me. I thought I was in control, but then why is he the one looking so smug?

::::::

**2019**

_Ste_

"What are you doing?"

"I'm having a look."

Brendan's walked in on me in the bathroom, in front of the mirror. I'm standing close to it, inspecting.

"At what?"

I turn to him, point at my head.

"Can you see that?"

He sort of squints, looks where I'm showing him.

"What am I meant to be looking at here?"

"Grey. It's a grey hair, isn't it?"

I hear him swear under his breath, take a step back.

"I'm serious. I'm going grey!" I look again, can't find the grey hair, but I'm sure I saw it.

"Just come to the kitchen, won't you? The kids have made you breakfast."

"What have they made?"

"It's a surprise."

"Okay, wait a minute." I look into the mirror again. "It's Danny, isn't it?"

"What is?" It's alright for him. He's got grey in his beard but it looks good. It looks _sexy_.

"The grey. He had loads of it, didn't he?"

"I don't know, Steven. I never met him."

"You've seen photos though. He wasn't even that old but he had it. This is his fault, this is."

I hear Lucas shouting for me. I take one last look then step out of the bathroom, and we go into the kitchen.

I stand still for a moment, looking round the room. They've laid out a breakfast for me - croissants, orange juice, coffee, pancakes - and there are streamers round the room, bright ones. There are cards on the table, and presents. I read the tags attached to them: _To dad_, one of them says, and then one saying _Ste _with a kiss which I know is from Amy, and then another saying _Steven_.

I look at Brendan.

"You got me something?"

"I got you something last year." He looks embarrassed.

"Yeah, but..."

I think he's relieved when the kids interrupt, pulling a chair out for me and asking me to open their present first.

They've made me this collage of photos. It's in a big glass frame, heavy in my hands. There are pictures of me and the kids from over the years - some from when they were just babies - and ones of us and Amy. She must have helped them make it.

"This is amazing. It's..." I stop, look at Brendan. "Look."

I show him. I've only just noticed that she's included one with the four of us: Leah and Lucas, me and Brendan. I remember her taking it. She hadn't liked it when I asked for Brendan to be in it too. I thought she would have deleted it straight away.

Brendan stares at it for a few moments. "That's really... That's good of her." He takes it from my hands, looks down at it again. He looks a bit shell shocked.

I bring Leah and Lucas in for a hug.

"Thank you. I love it. Going to put it in our room, aren't we Brendan?"

"Yeah."

I open the rest of the presents. Amy's brought me a few clothes, a couple of new shirts, and then there's a plain covered notebook at the bottom of the wrapping paper.

"I don't get it." I turn the pages; it's all blank.

"Go to the first page"

I do as he says. Inside is a message in Amy's handwriting: _For your recipes. _I smooth my thumb over her words.

"I'm going to call her after breakfast. Thank her."

"Better thank her boyfriend too." Brendan nods over to another present that had been underneath Amy's.

"Lee got me something?"

"Dropped it round yesterday."

"I never saw. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Man of mystery, Steven."

I tear the wrapping paper. Inside is a game that must have cost him a bomb.

"I've been going on about this for ages."

"A thirty year old who still plays on an X Box..."

"You can't talk, the way you get when you decorate a Christmas tree."

"You're never too old for Christmas, Steven. Never."

"This is brilliant."

I smile at him, put the game back on the table and reach for the last present. Before I have a chance to open it his hand's on top of mine, stopping me.

"Better leave that one till later."

"Why?"

He looks at the kids then back at me. I imagine him getting the present this morning from whatever hiding place he'd stashed it in, not expecting the kids to wake up early and distract him before he could put it away.

"Oh. Okay, yeah."

I put it back on the table. I see Brendan jump beside me when Leah starts trying to rip the wrapping paper from it.

"I want to see what Brendan's got you."

"Later, yeah?" I snatch up the present from the table, hold it out of reach.

"Why?" Her and Lucas are both looking at me, eyes narrowed.

"It's a special present." I've said the wrong thing; it makes them want to know even more.

"What have you got him?" Lucas says, turning to Brendan. He stays composed.

"One of those home dye hair kits."

"Brendan!"

He smiles at me like butter wouldn't melt.

"That's not funny, that."

"Sorry."

I go into the bedroom to put the present away. I can't resist tearing some of the paper off it, having a look. It's in a box but I can see the writing. It's a butt plug, one of those ones that vibrates.

When I go back to the kitchen they've all started on breakfast.

"What are you having?" Brendan asks. He's already got a plate piled high with pancakes, the syrup and butter running down the sides.

"A croissant, ta."

He laughs.

"What?"

"It's the way you say it. _Croissant_."

"There's nothing wrong with how I say it." I elbow him as I reach for the butter and jam. Leah pours me some orange juice. Lucas is too busy tucking in to his pancakes. He doesn't cut the first one, just picks the whole thing up with his fork and angles his head to the side as he tries to eat it. It reminds me of Brendan.

"Happy birthday, Steven." Brendan holds up his coffee mug. The kids copy him, their juices nearly spilling over the edges of their glasses as we all clink them together.

I take Brendan's hand under the table.

::::::

_Brendan_

"You look smart."

"Thanks." I take the piece of toast he's offering me, careful not to get any crumbs down my suit.

"Can't you stay?"

"Got to rush." I kiss his head. "Interview day."

"Interview day?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

He follows me to the hallway. He's got the day off and he's still not out of his pyjamas. They're thin cotton, barely anything to them. His hair's all ruffled from my hands raking through it.

"No, you didn't tell me."

"Someone at work quit so we're hiring."

He's silent for a moment, and I think he's gone back into the kitchen. I get my shoes on, do up my coat, and by the time I'm finished I see he's still standing there. He's looking off into the distance like he's somewhere else.

"Steven?" I click my fingers in front of him when he doesn't say anything. He blinks, dazed.

"Who are you interviewing then?"

Something about this is beginning to feel like an inquisition.

"People. Why?"

"I know they're _people_, Bren. I'd guessed that. I mean who are they? Like are they women, or..."

Now I think I know what he's getting at.

"Seriously?" I don't have time for this. I'm late enough already; Steven can be very distracting in the mornings.

"I'm just wondering." He sniffs, looks at me again like he's reassessing me. "That really is a nice suit."

I look down at it, wonder where exactly he's going with this.

"I've got to look good, Steven. Professional," I correct when he looks stung. "I need them to want to work there, don't I?"

"I could recommend someone."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He's animated suddenly, talking fast. "Yeah, I know someone really good. She used to work at the deli sometimes, do shifts when me and Doug weren't there."

"Has she ever worked in a club?"

"No, but... It's easy enough, isn't it? I mean I did it."

I hate it when he does that, puts himself down.

"You did it because you're good."

"I didn't have any experience at the time though, did I? I didn't know anything about working in a nightclub, and I learnt it all. Should I give her a ring, see if she's looking for a job?"

I try and be gentle. "It's a good idea, but I don't have time. These people coming today, they've already filled out forms online, gone through a process."

"A process." He snorts a bit, rolls his eyes.

My patience is wearing thin.

"There's going to be loads of different people there, Steven."

"Lads?" He says it quietly like he's half hoping I won't hear, won't answer.

"Lads, yeah. Girls too." I open the door, am about to step outside when I hear his voice pulling me back.

"Around Kevin's age do you think?"

I shut the door.

"Kevin? What does he have to do with any of this?"

Steven shrugs. He bites his nails, looks at the floor. We haven't talked about Kevin in years.

I look at my watch.

"I've got to go."

"Right."

"I don't...I'm not running out on you, okay?" It's important that he knows this. "I need this job, and if I'm late -"

"I know." I think he does, because he stands back a bit, doesn't try and force me to stay.

"Phone me later, alright?"

He says yes, but I'm not sure if he means it. I kiss him on the cheek. He doesn't try and kiss me back, doesn't touch me.

I get to work. I'm in the office, seeing the candidates, doing the interviews, but my mind's on him. I ask all the right questions, remember the details: whether they have the relevant experience, whether they come across well, what kind of hours they can work. I've got it all stored in my head, all written down, but my phone's in my pocket and I keep wanting it to vibrate, for it to be him.

I still haven't heard from him by five o'clock.

I switch my phone off when I'm about to message him. He said he was going to phone me. He said he'd be in touch. If he wants to sulk then that's up to him.

I can't stop thinking about it though, any of it. What would have happened if I hadn't hired Kevin that day? Would my life had turned out differently if he hadn't weaseled his way in, gathered information together, learnt where my weaknesses lay? It was this that led me to hire him, exactly _this_: being angry with Steven, shutting him out. I might have chosen someone else, someone unconnected to Walker, and me and Steven, we could have had years more than we have.

There's a lull in the evening. It's a Thursday so the place is relatively quiet. I take a break, shut the door of my office and switch on my phone. Still no messages from him, or phone calls.

I call home but there's no reply. Maybe he's gone out. It scares me, the thought of it, the idea of his head being all over the place with no one to talk to.

I call his mobile but it's the same, going straight to voicemail. I leave a message, a simple one, _call me, please_, and then I walk over to the wall, bang my head against it till it hurts. I push past it, keep doing it until I hear his voice in my head telling me to stop.

I need to get a fucking _grip_. This isn't six years ago. This isn't my boyfriend, this is my _husband_. If things are fucked up then I've got to fix it. There is no alternative.

_Want to come and visit me tonight?_

I send it before I lose my nerve.

I don't expect a reply, but it's ten minutes later and I hear my phone buzz.

_What time?_

_Any time. _

There's another wait. I think he'll tell me where to go or ignore me completely. I'm about to go back outside when the message comes through.

_I'll be there in an hour. _

He sits at the bar while I serve. He's wearing the tracksuit he knows I like best; it's loose around the waist, easy for me to get my hand into.

I make him a _sorry Steven_ cocktail. I don't know if he notices.

"Have you decided who you're going to hire?" That's the first thing he says about it. He doesn't bring up Kevin again, doesn't have a go at me, doesn't ask me a million questions.

"There was a lad who seemed good."

I sense him stiffening. He looks like he wants to throw the drink over me.

"Couldn't stop going on about his girlfriend."

Steven looks at me.

"Every other sentence. Should have heard him. He's got a good track record though. Seemed polite, enthusiastic. Think I should give him a chance?"

Steven sips at his cocktail, considering.

"Yeah," he says after an age. "Yeah, I think you should."

::::::

_Ste_

It's completely out of the blue. It's been ages. _Years_.

It starts when I answer the phone, hear this voice that I recognise asking for Brendan, but I can't place it.

"Who's this?"

"Pete."

"_Pete?" _

Brendan must hear me from the other room. He comes through. He's turned a bit pale, and when I tell Pete to hold on, that I'll just get Brendan for him, he shakes his head.

I put my hand over the phone, lower my voice.

"He wants to speak to you."

"Tell him I'm out."

"I can't. I've said you're here."

"Fuck sake. Tell him I'm in the shower."

"Bren -"

"Or having a wank."

I laugh at that, holding out the phone to him. He steps towards it slowly like it can bite. When he takes it it's like he's not holding it at all, like he's afraid to.

He brings it up to his ear, gives it a few minutes before he finally speaks into it.

"Peter, alright?"

I leave him to it, going into the bedroom. I close the door so I can't hear anything, try and resist going into the kitchen so I can eavesdrop. My first thought is that something's happened and that's why Pete's got in touch. Maybe his mum or dad's died. I try and remember if Brendan ever said he was close to them. They grew up together, didn't they? But I don't think he's ever mentioned anything. Brendan told me about some letters he got from Pete when he was in prison, but that's it.

It's twenty minutes later when I sneak back outside. Brendan's sitting on the sofa, phone still in his hand even though he's no longer speaking into it.

"How did he get our number?"

"Chez I guess."

I wait for him to tell me more, tell me _something_, but he doesn't.

"Is he alright?"

"Fine, yeah. He's married now."

"That's..." I don't know what to say. I never really knew Pete, and he spent most of the time warning me off Brendan. My memories of him are blurred by all the bad stuff that happened when he moved here. He was decent enough to me, to Amy.

"He's coming over here soon, visiting. Wants to see Lynsey, where she was..." _Buried_. It hangs in the air between us. "Wants to go and see Cheryl and Nate too."

"Right. That's nice."

"Wants to see me as well."

"You? But didn't you...I mean, you two were always..." I feel nervous all of a sudden.

"The past is the past." He says it, but I don't know if he really believes it. He seems as shocked as I am.

I sit down next to him.

"If I ask you something, you won't go off on one will you?" I don't know why I say it. I know he won't, not now. Maybe it's all this talk of the past; it makes me go back there in my head, makes me remember how things were once.

"Tell me."

"You and Pete... You never really told me what went on."

"What do you mean?" He looks at me. His eyes are unfocused, sort of glassy.

I just have to ask. Ask and get it over with. At least I'll know then.

"Were you two together?"

I wonder if he's thinking about the last time I asked him that. I feel like I'm holding my breath.

He shakes his head.

"No. I wanted it, but no."

"You wanted it?"

My face must look weird, because he kind of laughs. It's good to see it after the blankness since he's got the phone call.

"When I was a boy, Steven. When I was a teenager."

"Yeah, but if you wanted it once then -"

"Kind of like how you wanted girls once, remember?"

"That's different. That's completely different."

"My tastes changed." He stares at me. "Started liking the scrawny look, didn't I?"

"Don't know why you like me then."

He gives me a kind of fake laugh back.

"So nothing ever happened between you then?"

"Nothing. You really thought that?"

"You can't blame me, can you? You always acted really weird around him. And he wouldn't exactly be the first guy to come looking for you, would he?"

Brendan puts a hand out, ruffles my hair a bit.

"Not jealous, are you?"

"Get off." I wriggle until I'm away from him, sitting on the arm of the sofa. I flatten my hair down. "I think it's nice that he wants to see you." I don't add that it's because I know what they are to each other now, that I've spent the last eight years wondering about it, thinking that Pete was someone he'd slept him. "When's he coming?"

"A week."

"Where's he staying?"

"Don't know. A hotel I guess."

"Tell him he can come here. He can sleep on the sofa if he wants to. What?" I say when I see Brendan looking at me.

"You're inviting him to spend the night? Jesus. You changed your mind quickly."

"I liked Pete."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. It was you that was always trying to keep me away from him. Amy should come over too. She'll want to see him."

"Might as well invite the whole family around, make it an event." I think he's being sarcastic but I ignore him.

"What does he like to eat?"

"I don't know, Steven. I haven't seen him in years."

"You were his friend though, weren't you? You grew up together." I watch him, waiting.

He stares at me blankly. "I don't know...pizza?"

"_Pizza_? What kind of answer's _pizza_? We can't just feed him that all the time, Brendan. He may as well just stay at a takeaway place if he's just going to be having pizza."

He mutters something but I can't hear.

"What was that?"

"He isn't the queen."

"Yeah, but he's your old mate. I've got to make him something good, haven't I? Maybe I'll do one of my pasta dishes, or seafood or something. Maybe oysters. Tony keeps saying he wants to try that out at work."

Brendan raises his eyebrows. "Oysters? Are you wanting something?" He brings me to him with a hand around the back of my neck, kisses me.

"It's good though, isn't it?" I say when we break apart. "Pete getting in touch again."

"Yeah." He says it like he can hardly believe it. "Yeah, it's good."

::::::

_Brendan_

"Hold still."

"It's fucking cold."

"Still."

He does it, lies still. I hear a faint giggling but he's good as gold, doesn't move again.

I lean forward, lick the ice from his stomach, from around his belly button.

"Hand me the whiskey." He holds a hand out for it and downs some. He barely even flinches.

"You been practicing?"

"Used to drink some while you were away, didn't I?"

It takes me a moment to get my head back in the game. He never told me about that.

I lick him again; open up his legs, taste his skin and dip my tongue in between his thighs and and across his pubes. He drinks more of the whiskey, coughs a bit - _"went down the wrong way"_, and then asks me for a kiss.

His lips taste warm. They taste of booze. It's addictive.

"I love you."

"You're drunk." It's not an accusation, just an observation.

"So are you."

"I'm not drunk." My body lets me down; I let out something like a hiccup. Fuck.

He giggles again, brushing his thumb across my lips and offering me the bottle.

I down some, more than him, and then put it aside and climb on top of him. I feel the ice transfer from him to me. It makes me shiver like he did, and then it trickles, turns to water from the heat of both our bodies.

"You're hard." I take his dick in my hand, rub over the head, watch as his toes curl. He gets more bold when he's got a drink in him; he asks me to make him cum. _Slowly_, he says, and he lies back like we've got all the time in the world. I guess we do.

I get into position, his hands on my arse to drag me closer towards him. He just holds it for a minute, has a stroke, then I feel his lips. He's surprisingly tender about it.

I work on him with my hand but he grows restless, and soon he's saying _your mouth_, says it again until I wrap my lips around his dick. He's happy then; I feel him settle back against the pillow, and he turns his attention to me.

He's good with his tongue. He knows it. It makes him revel in his own power. He licks everywhere but the place I want him to - licks around my arse cheeks, across my lower back, along my legs.

I lift my mouth off him. He doesn't say anything at first, but the longer I leave it the more frustrated he gets. I feel his body tense, and I can tell he's wanting to ask. He resists for a while, but then gives into it.

"Why did you stop?"

"Why didn't you start?"

He plays coy like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. He even kisses me there, between my cheeks, still not using his tongue.

I lean forward, lie against his legs and wait. I know he won't be able to stand it much longer, and I'm right: the moaning starts. The protests of _Brendan_, the sighing, the shifting of his body, his cock growing soft as his arousal turns to irritation.

It makes him give me what I want. Game over. He licks my rim, laps at it repeatedly with his tongue with long, broad movements. I feel him relaxing again when I resume sucking him; it doesn't take much to make him happy.

He doesn't relent after that. His body arches off the bed and I make him come, but still he doesn't stop. He licks until my body lets him in. I spill over the sheets, ball them into my fists so that they remain creased when I let them go.

He tucks himself under my arm, strokes my beard.

"Do you know what you sound like when you come?"

"No."

"Like an animal."

"Do you like it?"

He nods, cups my chin and carries on stroking.

"You didn't always used to sound like that. You were sort of...I don't know, quieter. Like you wouldn't let yourself."

It's strange, hearing things from his side, things I never knew.

"Maybe you just couldn't hear me because you're a noisy bastard."

He picks up the whiskey. I think he's going to drink from it, but he pours it over me, over my chest.

"Steven!"

He doesn't even try to look sorry. He crawls down my body and laps it up, tongue darting over my chest hair. While he's down there he sucks my nipple, his hand around my cross.

"You'll be cleaning the sheets," I say when he's sitting beside me again.

He shrugs; he doesn't care. He's got this smile on him, this smile that I feel like only I see.

He stretches, has one last drink from the bottle.

"You know what next year is?"

"2020?"

"Idiot, I know that. I mean what's happening." He continues when I give him a blank stare. "We'll have been together ten years then."

"Ten years? No, that's.." I try and do the mental calculation, think how many years I wasted without him, how many we were apart for.

"It doesn't count, all those times we weren't _together_ together. We were still...I was still..."

"Me too."

"So it's ten years really, isn't it?"

"Yes." He's right. It doesn't count, all those other times. "Better do something."

His eyes light up. "Really?"

"Course."

Seems like he's been thinking about this for a while. He jumps straight in, kneeling up in front of me now, completely serious. Maybe he's not as drunk as I thought.

"I'd like to go to Dublin."

It shouldn't surprise me, but it does. I thought he'd suggest somewhere further away - America or Rome like he's talked about. Somewhere hot. Somewhere different.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. As long as you want to. I mean I understand if..." Maybe his mind's wandered to where mine has: the pub, Seamus, everything I told him there. Sometimes I think I can still smell the place.

"I'll book it a couple of months in advance. Get us a nice hotel, yeah? Not that grotty place."

"I don't know, it wasn't so bad." He kisses me, lingering, breathes_ I love you_ into my neck, and I say it back like I did that time on the bridge: like I can't live without him.

::::::

**2020**

_Ste _

I'm walking back home with Leah after collecting her from school. Lucas is with a friend and Brendan's at work. We have the flat to ourselves, and she makes a snack while I put dinner on.

At first we don't talk much. There's just the sound of Leah playing a game on her phone, the radio on in the background. They're playing old songs, and there's this one I don't recognise.

_Our love was lost, but now we've found it._

I hum along to it, turn the volume up a bit.

After half an hour I leave the dinner in the oven and join her, and that's when the questions start.

"Dad? How did you and Brendan meet?"

She's never asked me that before. I pretend I haven't heard her at first, bringing pots and pans out of the cupboard, weighing some butter on the scales, putting things away noisily. My head's buzzing. When I ask her what she said, I'm hoping that she'll have forgotten it.

"How did you and Brendan meet?"

I sit down at the table across from her. She's staring at me like she's just asked the most normal thing in the world.

"We met at work. Brendan was my boss, remember?" It sounds simple, like something that could happen to other people.

"What else happened though?" I don't know what the _what else_ is. Does she want specifics? Where has this even come from?

"We became friends." Immediately I know that's wrong, even if she doesn't know it. Brendan was never my friend. I was never his.

"Then what?"

Sometimes I wish she didn't have her mum's mind, that way of picking at something until she knows the truth. That stubbornness.

"Then we just..." I don't know what to say. _Then he asked me out _- no, that's not right. There was a night, a night when it was just the two of us, when we'd gone to a few clubs, gone to the pub and then back to his place for some drinks. But he hadn't asked me out, not properly. He'd only invited me because his mates hadn't shown up. It wasn't a _date_. We were just hanging out, and then I kissed him - or maybe he kissed me, I can never remember - and then things just...

I realise as I'm talking to her that I don't know how it started.

Or maybe I do know. Maybe I know that he was interested and I never even knew it; never even knew that I was interested in him until we kissed. Then it was all I could think about, like there had only ever been him. Everything I'd wanted before - Rae, and girls, and this old life I'd had - it just seemed to turn into something else. And it was because of him.

I can't tell her. She's looking at me, waiting for me to say something, and I can't. I can't tell her about the beatings, about the way he made me feel like it was my fault, about what he did to me back then. I know that she's not a baby any more - I have to remind myself that she's thirteen sometimes - but I don't think she'd understand. I don't think anyone would.

"He made me feel important." I say it slowly like I'm testing out the words. "Special."

She makes a funny face like she does when me and Brendan kiss in front of her and her brother, then says "Then what?"

"Then... I don't know, I liked him." Loved him. Knew I loved him from early on.

"And did he like you? I mean, straight away?"

"When we first met he didn't think much of me, and I didn't think much of him. But when we...you know, got to know each other, I think he liked me from then on." Again I leave out the details: the cellar. The key in the door. _You're not going anywhere. _His hand all over me, taking off my clothes, getting down on his knees, my dick in his mouth.

Yeah. I think it's safe to say he liked me.

"Did he ask you out first?"

I almost laugh. "No, not exactly. What's brought this on anyway?"

"I don't know." She's quiet for a moment, and I know she does know. "My friends were just talking about it today, about how their parents met, and I thought that I have no idea about you and Brendan. I mean, I know about you and mum. I know that you got her knocked up while she was still in school and she gave birth to me on the kitchen floor, but..."

"Leah, enough of that."

"It's true though." She smiles. I know she's not going to drop this.

"Do you remember when you stayed with Leanne for a bit when you were younger? While I was away?" I don't remind her that I was supposed to be starting a new life with Doug back then.

I can see her thinking about it, trying to work through the jumbled memories.

"Well that was when Brendan and I went away together. We went to Dublin. I showed you that photo of us there, remember?" She nods. "That's when he became my boyfriend."

"But then he went away again."

I stare down at my hands. "Yeah. But he came back, didn't he? He came back for me, and for you and Lucas."

"It's weird. I don't remember. I've heard things, and mum's told me a bit, but..."

I tense. I don't know exactly what Amy's told her and Lucas over the years. But it can't be anything too bad, because Leah moves on quickly enough.

"You must have really loved him, to take him back straight away after what he did. After you hadn't seen him for years."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. I do."

"Tell me then. Tell me about you two."

"I just have."

"Tell me more."

"Like what?" I feel uncomfortable even though I knew this day would come.

"Something. Anything."

There are so many things that I'll never be able to tell her, no matter how old she gets. Things that I don't want to tell her. Things I'll have to censor, or make up, or play down.

But there are a lot of things I _can_ tell her. Things that have happened, things which she won't remember. _Good_ things.

So I start. I start to tell her the story of us.


End file.
